


A Recipe in Four Parts

by zealousprince



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 18:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zealousprince/pseuds/zealousprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Present day non-magic AU.  The recipe: Remus, a down-on-his-luck junior accountant, is assigned to a small, equally down-on-its-luck business.  The ingredients: add one handsome but surly baker, two young parents and co-managers, one energetic toddler, and one concerned best mate.  Mix.  Bake, let sit, and enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: In Which The Ingredients Are Assembled

**Part One  
In Which The Ingredients Are Assembled**

The office was by no means packed that day, but for some reason, _that_ file had landed on Remus' desk.

He eyed it warily as he draped his coat over the back of his chair and sat down. Why did he feel all the eyes of the office on him? It was bad enough that he was considered, even after six months, the new guy in the small firm. All he had to do was come in to do his job for them to start staring. He did not understand.

"It's 'cause you're the nicest-looking bloke to have walked in here in a long time," Peter had told him once, in a manner that would have felt confidential if he had not been visibly holding back a smirk.

Peter's explanation was probably enough to explain the women's constant glances, but Remus doubted the same could be applied to the men. He was now considering the sometimes baleful, sometimes suspicious gazes to be purely territorial. The tiny accounting firm was only one of many in the London area, and sometimes struggled for recognition among the throng of bigger, better equipped firms downtown. Any addition to the team was sure to dilute the recognition any alpha male was fighting to gain. _Of course_ he would be the target of a certain hostility. He should have expected it from start. It was perfectly normal behaviour.

Unsurprisingly, the constant thought had done nothing to diminish his increasingly bad case of the nerves.

Sighing to himself, Remus returned his gaze to the file lying askew in the middle of his desk. Beneath the typed sticker affixed to the front of the folder, someone had written something in illegible script. Coloured Post-It strips adorned the open side of the file folder. Someone had obviously worked this case already, probably having taken notes, if the obnoxious paper bookmarks were any indication. So why was this being thrown at him now?

Remus read the sticker on the front of the file, frowned, and flipped the thing open. Expense tables, tax receipts, profit and deficit reports...all normal documents for a small business. Aside from the fact that even at a glance, it was clear the business was failing in a soon-to-be miserable way, there was nothing out of the ordinary with it. 

"Pete?"  
Peter raised his eyes from his own file and met Remus' questioning gaze from halfway across the open office.  
"Yeah?"  
"This case. I don't think I'm supposed to have this with me."  
"What? Lemme see."

Remus stood, walked the short way to Peter’s cluttered desk, and handed him the folder. Peter reclined absently in his chair as he skimmed through it.

Peter Pettigrew had been his best friend all through Remus’ long years spent obtaining his degree in business accounting. They were the same age, and although having gone to all the same schools growing up, their mothers had only known each other distantly. Neither boy had bothered getting to know the other until they had found themselves, a decade later, alone in a new school and working for the same degree. They had been fast friends ever since.

Peter had naturally come about having a job here, at _Ackerly & Pettigrew Accounting_, since his father _had_ helped found the place. His hire had been a transparent act of favouritism, of course, since Peter only took simple cases from nearby small businesses and went about his days with a distracted sort of cheer and no considerable amount of talent. Everyone liked Mister Pettigrew, and by extension Peter, so he was generally left to his own devices without any trouble.

 

All this did not matter much to Remus, though, since Peter’s skills as a best mate were far more significant than his almost nonexistent accounting abilities. Peter had even put him up for several months in his own tiny flat when Remus had been forced to quit school for a year from lack of funds. Even when he had moved into his own flat and continued to work himself to the bone in order to make enough for at least a portion of his tuition, Peter would come to visit, most times with a case of beer and a story about the last beautiful young woman to rebuff his clumsy advances, and both would invariably cheer Remus up every time.

More than a year after that, here he was, working for Ackerly and Pettigrew at his rookie accountant’s wage and bravely attempting to pay back the entirety of his student loan as soon as humanely possible. It was difficult since the higher profile cases were typically handed to the senior accountants, leaving him and the other juniors with slim pickings. But, Remus had a loyal best mate, a roof over his head, and just enough to eat every week, so he figured he should not complain.

“Hmm. Oh, I see.”  
Remus blinked and came back to the surface. “Hm? What? What do you see?”  
“I remember this place now. Hmm.”  
Peter sat straight on his chair again and passed the folder back to Remus, who accepted it with a frown of confusion. Peter regarded him with a half-smile.  
“You’re definitely supposed to have this one, Remus. In fact, you should be flattered,” he said, more mysteriously than was his habit, an act which only granted him another, deeper frown.  
“What? Pete, you’re not making any sense.”  
“Y’see, my dad asked this particular case to be turned over to one of the juniors, since none of his seniors wanted to take it. The other day, he asked me which of us little fish was most qualified for such a task, and naturally I said you were.”  
Remus glanced down at the label on the front of the file again. He found he still could not read the handwritten scrawl beneath it. “Oh. Thanks, mate.”  
“No problem.” Peter looked pleased. “Anyway, it’s that bakery down on Diagon, if you’re wondering. Near Charing Cross Road. Nice place. They make good lemon tarts.”  
“Yeah, well, they’re obviously not good enough, if their profits are so low,” Remus replied as he flipped the file open again. “They’re going to be out of business pretty soon if they don’t get it together.”  
“And that’s where you come in, isn’t it?”  
“Yes, of course. I guess I’ll go start on these, then.”  
“Mm.”

Remus had gotten halfway back to his desk when he turned back toward Peter, who was fiddling with his computer keyboard.  
“Hey, what’s so bad about this place that the senior accountants don’t want it?”  
“What?” Peter dropped the keyboard as though having lost interest in it. “Oh. Well, apparently a few have been and it seems like, er, our kind aren’t much appreciated there.”  
“’Our’ kind, Pete?” Remus repeated with a smile.  
“You know what I mean. One of the employees doesn’t take well to the help we’re trying to provide, it seems. The higher-ups got offended, but the clients still need help, so now it’s all yours.”  
“Oh. Thanks, mate,” Remus said again, in a much dryer voice than before, and returned to his desk.  
Peter grinned and said, “Cheers.”

=====

  


Remus spent the entire morning working on the bakery’s accounts. He re-crunched the numbers the senior accountants formerly heading the case had left, double-checking their figures just in case. It was mechanical, routine work that he liked for its simplicity, and for the ease in which he could allow his thoughts to wander as he worked.

The bakery on Diagon Alley was a very small commerce, almost inconsequential among the slew of businesses lining the London streets. Family-owned too, if the line of the file signalling ownership to one _James and Lily Potter_ was any indication. It was easy to see how such a tiny endeavour was fast floundering: in the ever-expanding city, it was always difficult to get a small business started, let alone flourishing. It was really no wonder they were having so much trouble.

Remus sighed as he jotted down the last set of numbers, rubbing his eyes before leaning back in his chair with a gesture of relief. There. Now that all the math was done, it was starkly obvious that this business, although only in its first year of conception, was in serious need of financial help. Remus knew full well that this bakery was very lucky to have been standing for as long as it had, and that it probably could not take much more. 

Well. Now that he had the figures, the next logical step would be to meet with the clients themselves to discuss them. Remus stretched and checked the time as he went, deciding that he would break for lunch after this call before grabbing his office phone up from a corner of the desk.

He consulted the front page of the report and dialled the bakery’s number. On the third ring, someone picked up on the other end, a young woman with a warm voice saying, “Hallo, this is the Potter residence.”  
Remus cleared his throat. “Um, yes. My name is Remus Lupin. I’m an accountant with Ackerly and Pettigrew. May I speak with Mister or Missus Potter, please?”  
A pause, then the warm voice continued. “Oh, this is Lily Potter speaking. I suppose you’ll want to discuss our accounts then, Mister Lupin?”  
“Yes, of course. Today, if at all possible.”  
“All right. Are you able to come around right now, then? I know it’s almost lunch time, but we’re usually not all that busy, so it should be all right. James and I would be happy to speak to you.”  
“That would be perfect, Missus Potter. I’ll be over right away.”  
“Oh, good. We’ll be seeing you, then.”

They hung up. Remus stretched again, then stood and gathered his things.  
“M’going to lunch at that bakery. See you later.”  
“Bring me back a lemon tart,” said Peter distractedly. He was fiddling with his keyboard again.  
Remus rolled his eyes with a smile and stepped out.

=====

  


The London streets were predictably packed along the main roads, but Remus found himself refreshingly free of traffic as he approached Diagon Alley. Contrary to its rather ominous name, it turned out to be an oddly quaint little corner of town, old-fashioned and almost whimsical, like another place entirely separate from contemporary London.

Remus allowed himself to coast contentedly down the street, letting his bicycle follow the slight downhill curve of the road as he surveyed the buildings on each side. The numbers rushed past, rising...there! He squeezed the brakes and came to a smooth stop in front of the small shop nestled between two old brick buildings. _Harry’s_ , the simple lettering on the front window proclaimed. It seemed like a nice enough place, not quite as rundown as Remus would expect from a failing business. 

Carefully, he secured his bike against a nearby lamppost. He peered at his reflection in the darkened window of one of the brick buildings, tried in vain to flatten a cowlick that had been ruffled up by the wind, and settled for straightening his suit as best as he could before pushing open the door of the bakery.

Upon entry, the first thing that struck Remus was the smell. Used to the warm, greasy smell of downtown cafeterias and lunch areas, he found himself quite enchanted by the cool, sugary scent filling the air. It smelled like sweets in spring, a startling contrast from the outside’s autumn air. It took all of his willpower to not stop right there at the entrance and sniff the air like a mongrel. Suddenly, he desperately wanted a sweet, but he suppressed this spontaneous desire too and approached the counter, behind which a single man worked intently, as though he had not heard the chime signalling Remus’ entry.

Remus was about to clear his throat and speak up to announce himself, but then he looked at the man, really _looked_ at him, and any thought of speech dissolved from his brain.

Remus did not know if was the surety of his movements, the perfect poise of his stance, or the strangely endearing _oh Lord, what am I thinking_ smudge of flour on the man’s cheek, but Remus could not stop himself from just standing there and watching him, like a socially inept teenager with a desperate crush. 

_Note to self: add “male baker” to list of kinks._

No sooner had the sacrilegious thought crossed his mind did the baker look up, only to grin openly as he met Remus’ eyes. He had grey eyes. Lovely eyes.  
“Hey there, mate,” said the man pleasantly. “Be with you in a bit, just gotta...”  
Remus only nodded mutely as he watched the baker heave the tray of pastries he had been preparing into some backroom oven. When he returned, he was dusting off his flour-smeared hands, still sporting that same boyish grin.  
“All right,” he continued in a loud voice. “What can I get you?”  
 _Shagged_. “Er, actually, I’m here to see Mister and Missus Potter.”  
The baker was undeterred. “Oh, they’re a tad busy at the moment, but I assure you I am as capable of serving you as they are.”  
Of that, Remus was quite sure. However, he wisely chose to say nothing on the subject. “I apologize, but I’m not here to buy anything. I’m Remus Lupin, from Ackerly and Pettigrew Accounting. I spoke with Missus Potter on the ph–...”

Once again, any thought of speech died instantly from Remus’ mind, except now the man before him was no longer smiling and joking, but glaring at him from behind the glass-topped counter. The careless grin had dropped from his face and the grey eyes had darkened and filled with storm. Caught completely off guard, Remus was jarred by the sudden change and was consequently rendered stupidly speechless.  
“Ackerly and Pettigrew?” the man asked, although the dangerous tone suggested he knew exactly with whom he had affair. “An accountant? I thought I told you all to leave us alone.”  
Remus, in a fit of two-parts admirable work ethic and one-part bullheadedness, stood his ground and forced the words out. “Yes, I...I heard about that. However, I spoke to Missus Potter a half an hour ago and she assured me it would be all right for me to come over and discuss the accounts.”  
The baker growled and slammed one flour-whitened fist on the countertop, causing Remus to involuntarily flinch away.  
“Our accounts do not need discussing!” he snapped. “What goes on with this bakery is our business and our business _only_. We do not need any poncy accountants waltzing in here to tell us how to handle ourselves, so I suggest you leave now and never show your face again. And tell your boss to not send anyone else. We’re through!”  
“I’m sorry, sir, but I have an appoint–...”  
“ _Sod your appointment!_ ” the man yelled. “I’m telling you to bloody leave! _Get out!_ ”  
“ _Sirius!_ Sirius, what in God’s name is going on down there?”

Remus was flooded with relief at the sound of the warm, slightly familiar voice. Hurried footsteps sounded from somewhere behind the counter, then a young red-haired woman emerged from an off-to-the-side staircase that seemed to lead upstairs. As soon as she alighted on the ground floor, she fixed the baker – Sirius – with an annoyed look.  
“Sirius, what is wrong with you? Yelling at the customers now?”  
“This isn’t a customer, Lily,” Sirius said through gritted teeth. “It’s another accountant. Says he has an appointment, can you imagine?”  
Lily sighed, the sound a mixture of exasperation and pure frustration. Remus could not help thinking it was a sound no young woman like herself should be making. “Oh, Good Lord...Sirius, he _does_ have an appointment. I told him to come here today. He called earlier while _you_ were upstairs helping Harry make a mess of himself.”  
Sirius opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then appeared to decide against retorting and turned away from them both, toward another tray full of half-prepared pastries. Lily sighed again, then turned to Remus and came around the counter to greet him.  
“You must be Mister Lupin,” she said in a friendlier tone. She held out her hand, and Remus shook it. “I’m sorry about Sirius. He has an awful time being _civil_ these days.”  
Sirius muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “not needed for _those_ wankers”, but Lily ignored him and proceeded to lead Remus upstairs.

"I'm terribly sorry about Sirius," Lily said again as she preceded Remus on the stairs. "It's just that he's awfully invested in this bakery and, well, he doesn't really like to accept help, much less from strangers who want to tell us how to manage things. It's more of a personality defect than anything, if you ask me. I apologize."  
"It's quite all right," said Remus politely. No one needed to know how his stomach had quickly sunk with disappointment when the man had started shouting at him.  
They reached the top of the stairs and alighted onto a clean, brightly lit landing. Smiling encouragingly back at Remus, Lily led him down the single, narrow corridor and waved him into what seemed like a small study.  
"If you'll wait right there, Mister Lupin, I'll go and fetch James so we can start."  
"That would be perfect."  
She left, trailing a perfume that reminded Remus of the sugary scent from downstairs. 

He set his briefcase down on the floor against the well-worn little desk and glanced out the window. The view was mostly unimpressive, of dirty rooftops and the roosting pigeons that inhabited them, but it was an improvement from Remus' own view of scummy apartment building walls. He wished he made enough to lease a flat in this neighbourhood.

His thoughts drifted back to the man he had met downstairs. With a sniff of indignation, he reflected that perhaps Peter could have given him a fairer warning than "doesn't take well to the help we're trying to provide". Just for that, he was _not_ going to get a lemon tart from him. 

It was a shame, really. Remus had not seen anyone since university, and was beginning to grow a little lonely, although this even Peter did not know. Peter was aware of Remus' preferences - such things being the business of best mates, after all - and although Pete did not really mind who Remus wanted to date or otherwise, he was not much help when it came to actually _meeting_ people with date-potential. 

And here he was, having finally met a nice-looking bloke with a smile lovely enough to render his insides to hormonal mush – mutual acknowledgement be damned – and he turned out to be the sworn enemy of accountants everywhere.

Life was _bollocks_.

"Hello there. You must be Mister Lupin."  
Remus turned away from the window and carefully smoothed the frown from his features. A young man of about his age was standing in the doorway of the study, dark-haired, bespectacled, looking a little worn and tousled, but sporting a cheerful smile. Good, at least _this_ one did not look as though he was about to pounce on Remus and tear out his intestines with his teeth.  
"I'm James Potter," said the man with an additional grin. They shook hands. "So, I hear our friendly neighbourhood baker gave you some trouble."  
Remus had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, sir."  
"Sorry about that. He's nice enough once you convince him you're not trying to run his life. Anyway, shall we get started? Lily will be up in a moment, she's just bringing our son Harry down so Sirius can watch him for a spell."  
James ran a hand through his messy dark hair and sat down at the desk, motioning Remus into an extra chair by the window. A moment later, Lily appeared and moved to stand beside James at the desk, all smiles.

They began. Remus pulled out the file and spread page after page before the couple, pointing out various things that, from the looks on their faces, were already painfully obvious. By the end of it, both James' and Lily's expressions were a little more drawn.  
"So are you saying this place has no chance?" Lily asked. Although her voice was even, the look in her eyes was enough to convey the desperation of the question.  
Before Remus could answer, James cut in. "Lily, don't be ridiculous. We said we were going to make this work, and we are. We just need...more time. More energy. That's all."  
He held her gaze for a long moment. She moved closer to him and he naturally reached up to wrap his arms around her waist. It was a gesture that was familiar to Remus, and with that familiar feeling came all the other memories of _couple, parents_ , and _home_ , slyly rushing at him all at once before he could stamp them out and lock them away, as before.

Unaware of his internal struggle, James and Lily both turned to look at Remus, who cleared his throat.  
"Well," he began, erasing his the self-conscious expression he could feel on his face, "I wouldn't say it has _no_ chance. It does have one." He waved a hand warningly as their gazes lit up. "But it's a slim chance. Slim enough to warrant very careful planning from today on."  
"We've been careful," said James nervously.  
His fingers toyed with the strings of Lily's apron. Remus gave him a sympathetic look. “I'm sure you have, Mister Potter. In fact, meeting you both now, I'm certain of it. However, it doesn't seem to have been enough."  
He stopped, and they lapsed into a thoughtful, heavy silence. Remus averted his gaze from the couple and began to gather up the papers, setting the copies aside for James and Lily to file away.  
"I'll be supervising your accounts as much as possible," Remus offered suddenly. From the corner of his eye, he saw them both look up at him. "It might be a bit tricky at times, when I have other cases, but I assure you I'll do anything I can to help. I...just short of making business decisions, of course."  
"Of course," said Lily, but she sounded happier. "Is that all, then?"  
Remus nodded and stashed the file folder back in his briefcase. He shook hands with James, then again with Lily, who gave him a gentle smile and clasped his hand gratefully.  
"I'll be going, then," Remus said, feeling oddly agreeable with these people. "I'm expected back at the office."  
"Of course, Mister Lupin. Oh, have you had lunch? If not, we simply must offer you something."  
"Oh, that...that's quite all right, Missus Potter." Quite frankly, the thought of ordering anything from an already irate Sirius did not appeal to him.  
"Don't you worry about Sirius, now," Lily continued, as though reading his thoughts. "He's not the one in charge of making the luncheons anyway, and if he does try to yell at you again, I'll beat him with his rolling pin."  
"That's my Lily!" cried James brightly, and clasped her by the waist again as they ushered Remus toward the stairs.

Smiling despite himself, Remus descended the steps first and allowed himself to be enchanted once more by the sweet smell of baked and baking pastries. It was enough to make his mouth water and to make him think that maybe he could forgive Peter for his sparse warning after all.

Sirius was no longer labouring behind the counter, but was pacing back and forth in the small store, in apron and hairnet, while carrying a gurgling little bundle in his arms. Remus deduced that the bundle must be Harry. He looked no older than eighteen months, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the ride. At a glance, Sirius seemed to be enjoying the moment just as much as the baby. He had the brilliant grin back on his face as he began to prance around faster, swinging Harry around a little as the child made enthusiastic noises. Remus could not help but grin himself as Sirius tossed the little one up toward the ceiling, then caught him deftly and held him close again as Harry screamed with laughter.

Behind Remus, Lily giggled and moved toward the counter farthest from the door. James said, “Be careful with him, Sirius.”  
Sirius turned toward them, a look of mock-affront on his handsome face. “You think I wouldn’t be careful with my own godson? Some best mate you are…”  
He trailed off as he spotted Remus, and his expression darkened considerably. He seemed to hold Harry closer as he strode hurriedly back toward one of the small tables sitting opposite the counters. Although his expression precluded brusqueness, he set Harry down with all the care and tenderness he had exhibited just moments before. 

Harry looked up at Sirius from the toy-strewn table, seeming to sense but not to understand the sudden change in his godfather’s behaviour. James and Lily exchanged a look.

As opposed to earlier, Sirius was now keeping his silence, his entire demeanour speaking volumes of his displeasure instead. James gave something like a sigh, then Lily spoke up, her voice only slightly tense as she asked, “So, Mister Lupin, what would you like? There’s plenty to choose from over here.”

The tense atmosphere eased somewhat at her voice, and Remus gave Sirius’ rigid back only another brief glance before heading over to the other end of the shop. He selected a sandwich for himself, paid, and walked quickly out after short goodbyes. 

Outside, he shoved the wrapped sandwich into his briefcase and detached his bicycle from the lamppost. Then, his bike chain and briefcase secured in the rear basket, he pedaled hard up the inclining road, trying bravely to ignore the strange, hard lump in the pit of his stomach.

=====

  


Even before arriving back at the office that day, Remus was determined to never set foot in _Harry’s_ bakery ever again. He had just spent the last five years going through hell and back again just to get his degree, so there was no way he was going to take such horrendous treatment from a man he had just met, just because of his profession.

It was selfish and juvenile, but Remus did not care. He was busy, lonely, and poor. He figured he deserved the concession.

Unfortunately, the only case he had for the next week turned out to be the bakery on Diagon Alley. He grit his teeth and worked, turning his mind away from the handsome baker – _seriously, don’t think of him_ – and toward the examination of the bakery’s assets and business strategies. And, after spending a few days in this state, burying himself in the numbers and ensconcing himself in the rows and rows of comfortable, precise figures, he was able to let the memory of Sirius’ treatment of him dim and lose its bite.

A week passed. Remus called the bakery once to double check a certain figure from the previous month. He did not go out, much less to his clients’ establishment.

Half a week after that, a crumpled paper ball landed with as much force as a paper ball possibly could, right in the middle of Remus’ office desk. He jumped and dropped a sheaf of papers. The sheets scattered with a loud rustle.  
“You work too much,” said Peter from across the office.  
Remus glared wearily at him and gathered up his papers.  
“You work too much,” Peter repeated. “Too much, and too hard.”  
Remus sighed. “I work just enough.”  
“You only have one case.”  
“It’s enough. I’m investing myself fully.”  
Peter snorted and reclined idly in his chair. In his glass wall-encased office across the open space, Mister Pettigrew looked up at Peter, sighed, shook his head affectionately, and went back to work.

Remus smartly tapped the bottom edge of his papers against the desk to straighten them and slid them carefully back into their folder. Peter watched him lazily. Then he said, “We should go out.”  
Remus looked up at him in alarm. “No.”  
“What d’you mean, ‘no’? You can’t say ‘no’!”  
“I just did. I don’t want to go out, Pete, I...”  
“The reason you’re working so damn much is because you don’t go out. That, and you’re trying to keep yourself busy so you don’t have to.”  
“Have to what?” Remus averted his eyes and dug into his briefcase, but of course all of the documents were already on his desk.  
“Go out,” said Peter patiently, with an all-knowing air. He spun his swivelling chair around merrily, then stopped himself after a few turns. “Something keeping you from going out to your client’s?”  
“Er. No. Should there be?”  
“You tell me, mate. I can only read you so well, you know.”  
Remus retrieved his hastily homemade lunch from his briefcase instead and tossed it up onto the desk. “Smartarse. There’s nothing wrong.”  
“Mm-hm.”  
“I’m _serious_.”  
“Isn’t that _his_ name?”  
“...what?”  
“That bloke at the bakery. The one who hates accountants.”  
“His name is _Sirius_ , not seri–...oh. Oh, very funny.”  
“Yes, I’m sort of a wag.”  
Peter smirked and spun his chair around again. “You afraid of him? I always knew you were delicate in the face of criticism, but I never knew you to be a coward.”  
Remus picked up the crumpled paper ball and chucked it back across the room, hitting Peter squarely on the forehead. The ball fell ineffectually to the floor.  
“I am not _afraid_ of the stupid berk,” Remus said with more ferocity than he had intended. “It’s not my problem he hates getting outside help. In fact, it’s probably all his fault the bakery is floundering in the first place.”  
Peter merely regarded him, his fingers steepled together in a parody of wisdom.  
“Actually, I’m sure of it,” Remus continued darkly. “I’m absolutely _certain_ that he’s the kind of bloke who would foolishly purchase ingredients too fine and expensive for a such a ridiculous little establishment, all to feel more _cultured_ and _refined_.”  
Peter cocked his head to the side and continued to silently watch Remus.  
“I bet he’s capable of spending an entire month’s pay on cheap wine and hair gel. I bet...I _bet_ he even spends on stupid, frivolous things no one needs like...like a plasma screen television or...or a _motorbike_ or something equally stupid!”  
Remus slammed one open palm down on his desk, surprising the other junior accountants around him. Peter only raised an eyebrow.  
“That is indeed stupid,” he agreed placidly.  
“Isn’t it? It is _so_ stupid.”  
Remus glared down at the file folder on his desk as he fell silent. The junior accountants stared openly at him, some of them slack-jawed with amazement.

Finally, Remus jerked his head up and gathered his things, roughly shoving various files and his lunch back into his briefcase and yanking his coat up from the back of his chair.  
“I’m going to _Harry’s_ ,” he snapped at Peter. “Sod him, I need to get over there and do my damn job.”  
He left in a flurry, slamming the employee entrance door so hard that the resulting gust forced a nearby junior’s papers onto the floor.

Peter reclined luxuriously in his swiveling chair and began attempting to balance a freshly sharpened pencil on his nose.

=====

  


Remus had been pedaling hard for a full three minutes before he realized what he was doing. He braked hard at the next intersection and, as he watched the cars file past him, deliberated several ways of painfully murdering his best mate and hiding the evidence.

Diabolical murder plots aside, there was no helping what had been done. He would look an even bigger fool if returned to the office now, so there was nothing to do but keep on going and hope his impromptu visit to the bakery would not result in too much flying insults.

The way cleared and the light changed. Remus set his jaw and continued on his way, pedaling at a far more subdued pace.

From the outside, the bakery looked as it had a week and a half ago. Remus thought he could even perceive some of the clean, sugary scent that floated within the establishment. That was the same too, except for a faint, sour tinge around the edges. Remus suspected, darkly, that it might be the smell of his own regret.

Visible through the glass front of the bakery, Sirius was standing behind the counter, hard at work at finishing whatever pastries he had before him. Remus, once again, could not help tracking his careful, certain movements, and had to fight to keep a disappointed lump from mounting in his throat. 

Again, he considered turning back. He knew it was stupid and cowardly, but he had absolutely no desire to be mistreated by this man like he had last week. He had put up a pretense of anger with Peter, but Remus found that he could not summon any of it back to him now. Something in the shape of Sirius’ forearms, the curve of his back, and the barely noticeable slump in his broad shoulders, made it so that even Remus, in all his righteous indignation, could not bring himself to remain angry. And without his anger to protect him, uncharacteristic as it was, he was utterly defenseless.

Remus sighed and glanced sideways at his bicycle, which he had hurriedly chained to the same lamppost as the previous week. He could not go in there. If he did, he would not be able to do anything but stand there like an utter fool, letting the insults wash over him, all because he was too _perceptive_ for his own good.

Remus scratched the back of his head and looked down at his shoes...

_BANG_.

...and damn near jumped out of them.

Remus clutched at his chest as his gaze darted wildly before him. His eyes fell upon the floor of the bakery, visible through the glass door, where a single wax crayon lay as innocent as could be.

He looked up. Perched atop one of the small plastic tables normally reserved for clients, little Harry laughed and tossed another wax crayon at the glass door. Another _bang_ sounded as the door was struck a second time. Remus could only stare blankly in.

From behind the counter, Sirius looked up to chastise the boy. Then, he looked out the door, and frowned.

Remus bit his lip in resignation, gripped his suitcase tighter, and stepped in, cursing Peter Pettigrew all the while. The chime sounded merrily above his head.

“Hello,” he said quietly.  
Sirius only stared at him, saying nothing. Remus stared back. Harry gurgled.

Finally, Sirius made a sound of displeasure and went back to his work, his shoulders a little more slumped than before. Remus, on the other hand, felt rather fortunate. He had spent so much time working himself up over the diatribe he was sure he would receive that he had allowed himself to be frightened into staying away. Perhaps he had been ridiculous.

He crouched to retrieve the two crayons from the floor and strode across the bakery to place them back on Harry’s table. Harry looked up at Remus with wide green eyes, one finger crooked against his lip.  
“Hello,” said Remus pleasantly. “I’m Remus. Here are your crayons.”  
“Cray,” said Harry.  
“Don’t talk to him, Harry,” Sirius snapped from the counter. His movements accelerated.  
Harry glanced toward his godfather as though puzzling over his behaviour, then turned back to Remus.  
“Cray,” he said again, happily.  
“Yes, that’s right. Crayon.”  
“Cray.”  
“...good enough.”  
“If you’re going to teach him words,” Sirius continued moodily, “you could at least teach him something useful.”  
“Oh?” Remus did not know how he found the courage to turn toward Sirius. “And what words do you think might be most useful to him right now?”  
Sirius stopped working and glared across the room at him, poised over his baking like a wild dog eyeing his prey. “ _Oh_ , I don’t know. How about ‘mummy’, or ‘daddy’, or ‘all accountants are gits, so never trust them’?”  
“I think that last one’s a bit much for a boy his age, don’t you?”  
“Do you _actually_ have any business here, Lupin, or are you just here to brainwash my godson?”

Remus was feeling quite bold, even just after being scared out of his wits by a toddler, so he was able to summon a slight smile in the face of Sirius’ mounting impatience. “Why, yes, actually. Are Mister and Missus Potter in? I have some things I would like to discuss.”  
It took what Remus felt to be a Herculean amount of strength to keep the smile on his face as Sirius glowered straight at him. Harry burbled into the tense silence.

As Remus watched, Sirius’ gaze shifted and was drawn to the child sitting on the table. His eyebrows came together and he seemed to deliberate something with great concentration, then he abruptly looked away and turned toward the backroom.  
“James is in the back,” he said curtly. “I’ll get him.”  
“Thank you,” Remus called after him, but Sirius had already disappeared.

Beside him, Harry had begun scribbling on a sheet of white paper with a green crayon. Remus looked down at him, the smile still stuck on his face.  
“Well, I count that as a victory. Wouldn’t you?”  
“Cray.”

=====

  


It took some time before James and Sirius reemerged from the backroom. Remus had had time to help Harry with his latest crayon masterpiece before the two arrived, looking sweaty and shaken and smelling like burnt pastry.

“Sorry for the wait, Mister Lupin,” said James. He fell heavily onto one of the plastic chairs next to Harry’s table and wiped his palms on his apron front. “Things have been a little insane lately. Oh, what’s that you’ve done there, Harry?”  
“Cray,” said Harry proudly. He was busy colouring over the green marks with yellow and red, as though deeming the first layer quite offensive.  
James beamed and ruffled the boy’s dark, messy hair, not seeming to care that he left a smudge of flour there. “That’s my boy! He’s been saying ‘cray’ for ages now. We’re just waiting for him to finish the word, y’know?”  
“He seems very smart, Mister Potter,” said Remus. “I’m certain he’ll get it before long.”  
“Yes, of course. Anyway, Lily is out at the moment, but I’m sure she won’t mind if we talk.”  
“I’m sorry I didn’t make an appointment. Maybe I should come back–“  
“Don’t bother, it’s not a problem. It’s not like we have much to do right now, considering the oven has just about broken down.”  
“It’s not broken,” Sirius protested. He was standing behind the counter in his usual spot, but was no longer working. “We can fix it, mate. We’ve done it before.”  
“I dunno, Sirius...”  
“I do. We’ll fix it. We’ll fix everything. I promise, James.”

James sighed, and fell silent as he watched Harry drawing. For a long moment, the only sound was the dull scrape of crayon on paper.

Finally, James said, in a very quiet voice, “I don’t know if we can.”  
He picked up one of Harry’s crayons and twirled it absently between his fingers.  
“It’s just...it was our dream, you know?” He went on, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Lily’s, Sirius’, and mine, ever since college. We already knew that this was what we wanted to do, but...”  
He sighed and set the crayon down.  
“Maybe we got ahead of ourselves,” James concluded. He shook his head, looking desolate now, and not at all like the cheerful, optimistic man Remus had met just the week before. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Lily last time, but...I really doubt we have any sort of chance anymore. It’s just gotten too hard.”  
“James–!” Sirius cried.  
“Stop it, Sirius,” James replied sternly. “You know it as well as I do.”  
“Well, I’m not giving up,” Sirius retorted. He came around the counter to stand right beside James’ chair, as close to Remus as he had ever gotten. His grey eyes had turned steely with determination.  
“You said it yourself, James,” he said gravely. “This was our dream. It still is. And we’re not just doing this for our sakes anymore.”  
Sirius jerked his chin toward Harry, who was still sitting on the table and scribbling obliviously away. Remus, however, could not take his eyes off Sirius.  
“You’ve got Harry to think of,” Sirius went on unrelentingly. “ _We’ve_ got Harry. What do you think will happen to him if this place goes out of business?”  
James swallowed. “We can’t let it.”  
Sirius grinned, patting James hard on the shoulder. “That’s right, we can’t! No godson of mine is going to live on the streets.”  
“And no son of mine,” James added. He reached out to bury his fingers in Harry’s dark locks, causing the boy to look up. He smiled at his father, revealing wet pink gums and the twin crests of slowly budding front teeth. James smiled back fondly.

After a moment, the atmosphere relaxed again, and everyone seemed to remember that Remus was still in the room.

“Well,” said James with forced cheer, “I suppose we should get back to business, eh? Mister Lupin–“  
“I’ll help.”  
“Mm?”  
“I said...I said I’ll help,” Remus said again. His voice had not raised above its usual level, but there was a new weight to it, a gravity that helped his words ring true. 

“I’ll help” was no longer a professional statement, whether Remus himself knew it or not. He had only to see the way the Potters devoted themselves to their business and most of all, to their son. He had only to witness the subtle desperation in Sirius’ attitude – the increased vehemence of his movements, the abruptness of his speech, the world-angry glint of his eye – to feel completely devoted to this cause.

James stared at him, confused by Remus’ sudden change in tone. Remus was looking straight at James now, but could acutely feel Sirius’ gaze on him.  
“You’re good people,” Remus said by way of explanation. “You all are, and because of that, I want to do all I can to help you out. To help you...fulfill your dream.”  
His expression shifted momentarily, but he kept his voice steady by clenching his fingers around the worn handle of his briefcase.  
“I’ll do everything I can. We’ll get this place back on its feet, and going even better than before. I swear it.”

He expected to see doubt in the eyes before him, doubt and disbelief that a mere junior accountant, _a stranger_ , would make such an outrageous claim, but instead of that, Remus only saw hope in James Potter’s eyes. It was a hope that the ever-cautious Remus would have thought dangerous if it did not make his own heart swell.  
“Excellent,” James said with gusto. “Excellent. Thank you.”  
He shook Remus’ hand fervently and gestured him into a chair, while alongside them, Harry gurgled happily and resumed his colouring. Behind them, Sirius stood very still, and had the air of a man weighing his options.

As Remus was spreading the reworked figure sheets before him, James looked up and met Sirius’ gaze.  
“Sirius? You all right, mate?”  
“Yeah,” said Sirius gruffly. He tore the hairnet from his head and stuffed it into his apron pocket. “M’gonna go see if I can fix the bloody oven.”  
He stalked away, and soon they could hear him tinkering away in the back.

James turned back to Remus, grinning widely. “Don’t worry about him anymore there, Mister Lupin. He’s quite pleased now.”  
Remus blinked and repeated, “Pleased.”  
Somehow, what he had discerned from Sirius’ body language told him he was anything but pleased.  
James seemed to understand his puzzlement and laughed. “Not exactly chuffed, per se, but grateful enough. He’s just disinclined to show it because he’s spent the last week hating you.”  
“Oh, um...”  
“Like I said, don’t worry about it. Now, show me how we can turn things around.”

Remus obliged and began to run through the figures, his mood lifting as a bubble of his own blind hope rose in his chest.


	2. Part Two: In Which The Oven Is Warmed

**Part Two  
In Which The Oven Is Warmed**

Remus Lupin was never one to go back on his word, but he was not beyond cursing himself in retrospect.

This business of rehabilitating the Potters’ failing establishment was definitely not going as Remus had planned. Naive as he was, he had allowed himself to believe that a few sound business decisions such as modified ingredient lists and a few weeks spent eating nothing but baked beans for supper would be enough to reverse the bakery’s ill fortune. Sadly, this was not the case.

Sirius had, by some miracle and no little skill of his own, managed to get the oven working again, but faulty machinery was no longer the worst of their problems, what with the ever-increasing cost of living and of certain fine ingredients quite necessary to serious bakers. The Potters assured Remus that they were doing all they could to cut back on such costs, but profits were still meagre, and as the life expectancy of the bakery dwindled, so did any apparent control Sirius had on his temper.

Remus had thought that he had already seen the worst of Sirius’ anger, but in this too, he proved to be deeply misinformed. At every one of Remus’ weekly visits, Sirius would, from the safety of his floured countertop, bestow upon his accountant the worst names he could possibly muster, without bothering to lower his voice any more than it took for him to escape Lily’s notice. Remus had often felt the urge to plant his feet and yell right back at him, but it had been a passing urge that his common sense had quickly stamped down. There was no helping Sirius’ behaviour toward him, his mind duly informed him on such occasions. Better to just let it go.

So he did. In this manner, a month passed.

Remus instead put all of his energies into figuring out new ways of improving _Harry’s_ welfare. He had no other cases which necessitated the same amount of monitoring as this one, which was fortunate considering the amount of work to be done. Sometimes, Remus would be up most of the night, sitting up in bed by the faint light of a single table lamp as he went over small business strategies in his handwritten notes. He shared these strategies with James and Lily Potter as often as he was able, usually upstairs in the Potters’ study, where Sirius was less likely to overhear. The first time Remus had dared take the more proactive approach and discuss such things with James in the bakery proper, Sirius had nearly had a fit. Although Remus had narrowly avoided receiving a flying baking pan to the head, Sirius had screamed so loudly that upstairs, Harry had been startled out of a nap and had ended the entire thing with his cries.

James and Lily had banished Sirius from the bakery with the orders to purchase more ingredients, and had profusely apologized to Remus. He had accepted their apologies with his usual grace, but something in the back of his mind had told him it was not enough. Why was it that he was doing all he could to help this business get back on its feet, and the only thing Sirius could do was yell at him for it? What could he possibly want?

(Also, the other questions, the ones that tormented Remus in the night: why was he doing this? what did he want? why was he so willing to give so much of his time and energy for a place that was not his, people that were not family, or even that close to him? _why, why, why are you doing this to yourself?_ )

Despite everything, Remus still found himself watching the surly baker for long moments at a time, and wishing with stupid desperation for his approval. He had never been one to depend on others’ opinions of him, but somehow, the way that Sirius treated him week after week hurt and annoyed him deeply. It was no longer an issue of Sirius hating him for his job. This felt more involved, more personal.

He knew that he was under no obligation to stay. He was an employee of an upstanding establishment, after all. He had rights! He could very easily cry foul and run to the state for protection, upon which any and all blame would be placed upon the client. If he did that, he would be free. No more responsibility, no more trouble. It would be out of his hands. None of his concern.

A lesser man would have reflected upon this and made the logical choice, that choice being to turn tail and leave the bakery to its own devices. However, Remus, as tedious as his life was getting with the weekly diatribes, was not one to turn his back on a person – or a business – in need.

And, he had to grudgingly admit, this was becoming a matter of pride as well. What kind of man would he be if he withdrew his offer of help, if he broke his promise? He was not even sure if he would be able to live with himself, not after seeing young Harry and the way in which his parents carried on to support him. He had sworn to help him as well as the elder Potters. By the same token, he had extended his helping hand to Sirius, and although the latter was trying his damnedest to bite said hand, Remus felt compelled to offer his aid all the same.

All Good Samaritan compulsions aside, Remus had to confess, only to himself and only in the late night, that his attraction to Sirius was a factor in the equation. It was uncouth and unprofessional of him, he knew, but there was no helping that the Sirius he had first met – the grinning, cheerful Sirius with a smudge of flour on his cheek – was just his type. It was only a further indication of the unjustness of the world.

It was not only that. Remus had to respect a man that was as dedicated to his work as Sirius was. Although he obviously had no qualms about verbally degrading complete strangers, he possessed a love for his job that had probably been one of the only things keeping the bakery afloat for so long. It was certainly one of his better qualities.

Incorrigibly, Remus could not help sneaking glances at Sirius at the bakery, sometimes descending the stairs from the study after a weekly meeting as silently as he could in order to catch a glimpse of the baker at work. Before long, Remus had practically memorized the shape of his shoulders and back, or the length of his legs in blue jeans and work boots, or the curve of his nape under the long black hair. It was a scrutiny that, quite frankly, bordered on obsession, and Remus always forced himself to look away whenever he caught himself, making an effort to hide the shame from his expression.

Things went on in this way. Slowly, the days progressed, the ecstasy of hope dimmed, and the bakery struggled on. Then, one day approximately two months from that very first day, things began to look up.

It was getting cooler in London. Soon, Remus would be pedaling his bicycle through snow drifts and across icy lanes, a yearly experience that he did not regard with any sort of relish. He could have easily spent a bit more in order to take public transit like everyone else, but he found he enjoyed the exercise, if not the weather. His otherwise sedentary lifestyle called for such things.

Nevertheless, it was with a grumble that he pulled up to the front of _Harry’s_ on one frosty afternoon, sore-jointed and chilled to the bone. He attached his bicycle to the lamppost as quickly as his stiff fingers would allow, then grabbed his briefcase and rushed into the building, taking care to swiftly close the door behind him. The chime, familiar by now, sounded in greeting.

Remus stood still before the door for a good moment, letting his limbs thaw while the frost on his thick woolen scarf melted into droplets. The backroom of the bakery radiated a welcoming heat, and Remus instinctively moved closer to it as he removed his gloves and stuffed him into his coat pocket.

Lily descended the stairs from the living quarters as Remus was unraveling his scarf. She gave a warm smile as she spotted him.  
“Why hello there, Mister Lupin. Dreadful weather, isn’t it?”  
“Quite.”  
“Well, you’re free to stay as long as you like. Perhaps you’d like to sit beside the oven for a spell?”  
“That would be wonderful, actually,” Remus replied, only half-jokingly, “But I’m afraid I have urgent news today.”  
Lily’s eyebrows came together, and she reached up to nervously pull at a stray lock of her red hair. “Urgent? Mister Lupin, don’t tell me...”

Remus said nothing, but the pleased shine in his eyes was enough. Lily clapped her hands over her mouth in amazement, exclaiming, “Really? _Truly_ , Mister Lupin?”  
Remus smiled and only said, “Is Mister Potter in right now, ma’am? I would like to speak to you both.”  
“Oh, of course, he’s right here! _James!_ James dear, come quick!”  
“What, _what?_ What’s wrong? Is it Harry? _Is Harry hurt?_ ”  
James came stumbling into the bakery from the backroom, glasses askew. He bounded straight toward Lily and latched himself to her as though struggling for balance, crying, “ _Lily! What is the matter_.”  
“Don’t be so overexcited, dear,” Lily chastised. “I was just calling you because Mister Lupin is here, and apparently he has some news.”  
James straightened and pushed his glasses eagerly back up the bridge of his nose, eyeing Remus with trepidation.  
“News? Is this true, Mister Lupin?”  
“It is indeed, sir. If you’ll have a seat?”  
“In my own bakery, why not,” said James shakily, and sat down next to Lily at the table that was clearly Harry’s property, judging from the myriad crayon scribbles decorating the surface.  
Remus sat opposite the couple with as much poise as he could muster, but it was clear that he was in as much of a state of agitation as poor James. With great deliberation, he opened his briefcase and spread the bakery’s documents on the table. The most important columns were marked in yellow highlighter on the copies intended for the Potters’ files.

“So what are we looking at here, Mister Lupin?” James asked, as he usually did during such sessions, except that his expression was far more drawn. He did not seem to notice how his wife beamed across the table at Remus.  
“Well, you see, Mister Potter...”  
“Oh, Mister Lupin,” Lily cut in, “ _Do_ spare James the agony, will you? Tell him already!”  
James looked confusedly from Lily to Remus. “What? Tell me what?”  
“I think what your lovely wife is trying to tell you,” Remus said with a smile, “is that the news is good.”  
James looked at him blankly, disbelief mingling with the resurging hope. Remus tipped his head toward the papers and allowed his smile to widen. “Things are getting better.”  
James gave a shout of joy and Lily clutched her hands to her chest, and their reactions were so uplifting that Remus had to laugh as he pushed the documents toward them.  
“If you’ll look here, you’ll see that the changes you implemented last month have helped profits. It’s not too much, considering our goal, but it’s a definite start. Keep this up and you’ll be well on your way.”  
“And this place, this whole place, everything we have,” Lily said breathlessly, “all of it will be saved?”  
Remus hesitated, not wanting to imbue his clients with any exaggerated, false hope, but he found he could do nothing but nod in the face of their relieved, excited gazes.

James and Lily clasped hands at the confirmation, their entire manner bespeaking their utter joy.  
“Oh dear, oh my dear,” James said, his voice still a tad shaky. “I knew it, I knew it all along, Lily.”  
“Of course you did, darling. There definitely has to be another reason why you’ve been so uptight lately.”  
James raised his eyes at Lily’s gently sarcastic tone, looking shocked. “Y-You knew–“  
“James Potter, who do you think I am?” Lily admonished, but not unkindly. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice you skulking about with that desperate look on your face?”  
“I...but...you know...stiff upper lip and all that...”  
“I know.”  
Lily embraced him tightly, and James held her back, sending Remus a woeful glance that Remus returned with amused sympathy. He lowered his eyes to the table and began occupying himself with separating the documents from their copies, feeling a bit intrusive all the while. In the eight months that he had spent working at _Ackerly & Pettigrew Accounting_, he had never seen such joy on a client’s face. He was not quite sure how to react.

Before long, James and Lily rose, Lily accepting the pile of papers from Remus while James reached out and enthusiastically shook Remus’ hand in both of his own. Lily beamed at them and said, “Well, I suppose we should go tell Sirius, then?”  
“Tell me what?”  
Right on cue, Sirius appeared in the doorway to the backroom, looking more overwrought than Remus had ever seen. For the first time, Remus noticed the dark bags under the man’s eyes, smudging his pale skin purple with tiredness. This news would do him good as well.  
“Tell me what, Lily?” Sirius insisted with mounting alarm. “Is it bad? What has the damn accountant told you now?”  
She frowned at him, but could not help her expression from flickering back to a smile. “Oh, come off it, Sirius. You know as well as we do that he’s done nothing but help.”  
“And help he has,” James continued, wrapping one arm tight around Lily’s waist. “Sirius, he’s done it. _We’ve_ done it. It’s getting better!”  
“Better,” Sirius repeated. “Are you certain?”  
He came from behind the counter and turned slowly toward Remus, who felt like he wanted to shrink from his gaze. Sirius’ grey eyes were darker than ever and weary.

Remus kept his eyes locked with Sirius’, and for some reason his smile came easily. “Yes.”

A pause, then Sirius gave a mighty whoop of happiness and bounded forward to clutch both Potters in a fierce embrace. They laughed and tottered against him, and Sirius was shouting, “Yes, _yes! I knew it! I knew we could! This is brilliant!_ ”  
He spun his friends around with renewed energy, so that James and Lily protested with alarm and tore themselves away. Sirius was undeterred and moved to sling his arms over their shoulders instead, a wide, boyish grin splitting his handsome face. Remus’ heart skipped a beat at the sight, before he had to sternly remind himself that This Was Not Happening.  
“I knew it,” Sirius repeated fervently. “I just knew it. Well done. I told you. Everything’s going to be all right.”  
“And we have Remus to thank for that, in a way,” Lily added. “Oh, I’m sorry, I mean Mister Lupin–“  
Remus gave a small smile of his own, feeling somehow flattered. “Remus is fine, Missus Potter.”  
“Then you simply must call me Lily,” she said. She detached herself from Sirius and clutched at Remus’ arm instead.  
“And me, James,” James added. He moved to slap Remus’ amicably on the shoulder. “Good show, mate.”  
“Thank you, but I’m only doing my job...”  
He trailed off when he saw Sirius looking straight at him, his posture rigid. He seemed to be struggling, and Remus would quite frankly have feared for his life had James and Lily not been flanking him.

After a tense, protracted moment, Sirius sighed and raised a hand to scratch the back of his head, looking uncharacteristically hesitant.  
“I suppose I owe you an apology, then,” he said roughly, his gaze cast elsewhere now. “So, yeah...sorry. That I chewed you out and stuff.”  
Remus willed himself to breathe. “A-Apology accepted. Thank you.”  
“But that doesn’t mean you can slack off!” Sirius returned, his gaze snapping back to Remus. “You’ve got to follow this through to the end, just like the rest of us. This is your responsibility now, too.”  
“I’m aware. I’ll do my best, as always.”  
“As always,” Sirius repeated, looking disgruntled. He stepped forward and offered Remus his hand. “I guess I should introduce myself properly this time. Sirius Black, head baker of this fine establishment.”  
Remus took his hand and shook it gratefully, trying very hard to keep his gaze linked with Sirius’. James said, “Hey, wait, I thought I was head baker?”  
“You can hardly fulfill duties like those if you’re always running upstairs to tend to Harry, now can you?” Lily said airily. Watching Remus and Sirius, she looked far more contented than she had in a long time.

=====

  


It was a week after that Remus finally decided to sample the bakery’s main wares for himself.

Peter had been giving him passive-aggressive hell for a while now, probably due to the fact that he had never gotten his lemon tart, and considering that Remus had found enough change in his coat pocket to warrant such a purchase (probably planted by Peter himself, upon retrospect), he decided it was high-time he rewarded his best mate. After all, it was thanks to him that he was handling the Potters’ case now, and even though he could have lived without the I-hate-your-guts-by-default-so-sod-off thing from Sirius, he had to admit the budding friendships he had now were well worth the initial trouble.

So it was with bravery and mustering all the good in his heart that Remus wrapped himself tightly in his wool coat and scarf that lunch time, preparing himself physically and mentally for the outside cold. Peter glanced at him curiously as he passed while lugging a pile of files. He deposited them onto someone else’s desk without so much as a sheepish look, calling, “Hey, where are you off to?”  
“The bakery. M’gonna get some lunch and that tart you wanted.”  
“Brilliant. You know you’re my best mate in the entire universe, right?”  
“I shudder to think,” said Remus cheerfully, and waved a farewell greeting as he left.

It was colder than ever. Snow had been forecasted for the next day, but Remus was praying to whatever god that existed that the prediction would not come true so soon. He was already shivering as he unchained his trusty bicycle from the rack, and was not looking forward to a long winter of the same.

The thought of the warmth of _Harry’s_ bakery urged him on through the chilled streets, so that he made it there in record time, ignoring the cold sting of the wind in his eyes all the while. As he was clumsily securing his bike onto his usual lamppost, someone called out to him, and he turned to see Lily and Harry Potter making their way up the road. Both were as bundled up and red-cheeked from cold as he was. Smiling, Remus shifted his briefcase to his left hand and reached out for Lily’s grocery bags with his right.  
“I’ll take those for you if you’d like, ma’am.”  
“Oh, you’re a dear.” She handed them over and shifted Harry in her arms, so that she supported him much more comfortably. “We weren’t expecting you today, Remus.”  
He peered down curiously into Lily’s plastic bags. “I thought I’d come for lunch. And to pick up something for my friend, who apparently appreciates your wares.”  
“Well, come on in, then. Tell Remus to come in, darling.”  
“Weem com’ih.”  
“...close enough.”  
She pushed the bakery door open with her hip and let them in, sighing in the warmth. Remus stepped in awkwardly behind her and shoved the door closed with his foot, then tottered to the nearest table and set down the heavy bags with a grunt of effort. From the counter, James and Sirius looked up from their work and called out in greeting. Sirius turned his eyes slowly to Remus.  
“Carrying her shopping already? The man’s only been around two months and he’s already whipped like my specialty cream.”  
“Stop your teasing, Sirius, he was only being a gentleman,” Lily said briskly, “which is more than I can say for either of you.”  
“I’m gentle,” James protested.  
“I’m gentle,” Sirius squeaked in gross imitation, earning himself a floury punch from James.  
Lily shook her head at them and proceeded to unwrap Harry’s winter clothes from his tiny body. She hoisted up the groceries again and said, “Remus, do you mind watching Harry for a moment? I’ll just go put all this away and I’ll be right back to make your lunch.”  
“Oh, er...of course.”  
She smiled at him and disappeared upstairs, lugging both the bags and the winter gear. After their brief scuffle, James and Sirius had returned to work. Remus seated himself on a nearby chair, next to Harry who, as usual, looked right at home on top of the table.

Harry was rather quiet that day, and actually seemed on the verge of a nap despite his excursion into the pre-winter cold, so Remus felt it safe to glance over at the baking counter from time to time, where James and Sirius worked with amazing efficiency and grace. Although James too was obviously very good at his job, it was Sirius that Remus’ gaze kept returning to. In his movements and posture, Remus kept re-seeing the things that had attracted him to Sirius in the first place: the firm line of his jaw, the broadness of his shoulders, the smooth, confident shape of his forearms, wrists, and hands. He was, in all honesty, a beautiful man if Remus had ever seen one.

Remus did not think he was in love. He was not stupid enough to even entertain the possibility, not anymore. Falling in love was something he had allowed to happen too early, too many times. Furthermore, he had learned through years of practice that it is always far easier to admit one’s attraction to someone when that attraction means nothing.

_Nothing. It means nothing. Only that I’ve been on my own for a long time._

Remus must have been staring too long as he thought these things, because suddenly Sirius was looking up and locking gazes with him, looking puzzled and slightly annoyed and something else, a somehow familiar expression that was strangely like...? – _no, don’t think about it._

“That looks good,” Remus said, his voice sounding overly loud to his own ears. “What you’re making now, I mean.”  
Sirius looked back down at his pastries-in-the-making and shrugged, but a grudgingly pleased smile hooked up his lips. “Of course it does. S’my specialty, after all.”  
“I thought your cream was your specialty, Mister Black?”  
“I can have a specialty cream _and_ a specialty pastry, can’t I?” Sirius replied haughtily. “Shows what you know, Mister High-and-Mighty-Accountant.”  
“The only one being high and mighty around here is you, Sirius,” James put in. “Tone it down, or you’ll influence Harry.”  
“I think he’s beyond being influenced right now,” Remus noted.  
Harry was sitting slightly slumped on the table, his eyelids lowering progressively over his bottle green eyes. James took one look at him and hurriedly washed his hands clean, then rushed over to lift the tot into his arms.  
“There, there,” he crowed, transforming instantly into the doting young father, “Daddy will bring you to nappy-time, all right? There’s a good boy. Come on now, come on.”  
“Nap,” Harry agreed sleepily, “Da’, nap.”  
“That’s right, Harry! Nap! Naps are good!”  
“On with it, James,” Sirius said with petulant mock-disgust.  
James pulled a face at him. “Just you wait ‘til you have kids. Come on, Harry. It seems your goddad needs a nappy-time of his own, doesn’t it?”  
He carried Harry carefully up the stairs, talking all the while. Once he was out of earshot, Sirius sighed theatrically and wiped his hands off, but not before leaving a familiar smudge of flour on his left cheek and _God_ , Remus really wanted to wipe it off himself. Or perhaps lick it off. Either one would do, really.

It was a bit more awkward to be staring at Sirius now that they were alone in the small shop, so Remus was forced to occupy his time in other ways. He moved over to the luncheon counter in what he hoped looked like a leisurely stroll and peered past the glass at the proffered choices. Without warning, a loud electronic beep sounded from the backroom, making him jump. He had not realized that he had gotten so tense.

Sirius cast him a faintly amused look, but seemed to suddenly remember that this was his (sort of) enemy standing before him. His expression turned carefully blank.  
“Oi, Lupin.”  
“Hm?”  
Sirius leaned rakishly against the counter, his face deadly serious. “If you think these pastries I’m working on look good, wait until you see the finished product.”  
“Oh? Is that what’s in the oven right now?”  
“Very astute,” said Sirius with unmasked sarcasm. “I need to go get them and leave them to cool. Then you’ll see.”  
Without another word, he turned and strode into the backroom with pride. Remus’ eyes followed him until he was out of sight. Not in love, but definitely attracted.

Lily returned to the bakery proper just then and busied herself with preparing Remus’ sandwich. There was a grace to her too, while she did her work. Only now was the incredible passion of these people becoming clear to Remus, who liked his job well enough but did not relish it in the same way James, Lily, and Sirius did theirs. This, Remus reflected, is what people with a dream look like. This is what they can do.

As though to confirm this very thought, Sirius emerged some minutes later from the oven room with a tray of flaky, golden pastries. He was looking absolutely chuffed.  
“See here,” he said boisterously, “aren’t they lovely?”  
“Definitely,” said Remus in agreement.  
“See, Sirius, I told you we could still do well with different ingredients,” Lily said from her end of the bakery.  
Sirius sniffed aristocratically and set the tray down on the counter. “They’d be even better-looking and tasting with the _right_ ones.”  
Lily sighed but said nothing more on the subject as she handed Remus his lunch. “Here you are, Remus. Oh, and what will your friend be having?”  
He indicated the lemon tarts and accepted a wrapped one gratefully (“Fresh from this morning, dear!”), handing over the money as beside them, Sirius busied himself with his work once more. Remus decided he could stand to linger, and seated himself at Harry’s table to eat. He seemed to have no qualms about watching Sirius when the latter was so absorbed in his work.

Sirius had moved the uncooked pastries aside to sit for a while before turning to the fresh ones. As Remus watched with fascination, he began to decorate them with tiny, delicate-looking cream rosettes and succulent raspberry glaze, drizzled liberally over the tops in a fine latticework. Remus’ mouth fairly watered at the sight and smell of the lovely little cakes.

Sirius seemed to notice Remus’ interest, because he glanced up, for perhaps longer than necessary, before moving the last plain pastry to a small plate. He decked it in the same way as the others then came around the counter himself to place it on Remus’ table. Remus looked up at him in bewilderment.

“Sweet tooth, Lupin?” Sirius asked with a cockily raised brow. “Go on. Try it.”  
“Oh. Thank you.”  
Slowly, Remus picked up the pastry and bit into it. A moment passed, then two. Sirius crossed his arms expectantly.

“This...”  
Remus swallowed, licked his lips, and took another much more enthusiastic bite. Apparently, this was all Sirius needed. His lips parted in a wide grin. “Good, isn’t it?”  
“Good? Mister Black, this is _delicious!_ ” Remus was so enamored he nearly fell off his chair. “This is _brilliant_. How are you not famous for this?”  
Sirius tipped his head in faux-modesty. “Just bad luck, I suppose. But don’t worry, my day will soon come.”  
Remus smiled up at him and popped the rest of the pastry in his mouth, savoring it in a way that he had not savored anything in a long time. “It...it tastes beautiful, Mister Black. Exquisite.”  
“Exquisite, eh? I like the sound of that.” Sirius nodded, satisfied, and waved a hand airily. “Oh, and let’s stop with the ‘Mister Black’ business, all right? No one’s ever called me that, ever. It’s Sirius.”

 _Sirius_. Remus wanted to whisper the name right then, to taste it like he had just tasted the heavenly pastry.

Instead, he said, “All right, then. But only if you call me Remus.”  
Sirius eyed him for a moment – unsure? – but then he smiled, much easier than before. Behind him, something in Remus’ tone had caused Lily to look up. She frowned pensively at them both.

Sirius tossed his head smugly and clapped Remus on the shoulder. The touch sent electric shivers across Remus’ skin.  
“Well, I couldn’t possibly hate a man who loves sweets the way you do,” Sirius declared. “Even though you _do_ wear wool suits and god-awful ties, I suppose we can be friends.”  
“I suppose so,” Remus said, a little weakly.  
“Right, then,” Sirius said loudly, slapping Remus’ shoulder one more time before pulling away, “back to work for me.”  
“Ah, for me too,” Remus replied, having miraculously recovered his senses. “They’ll be expecting me at the office, especially my friend who wants this tart.”  
“Off with you, then, and regale him with _Harry’s_ finest,” Sirius urged, waving him off with a damp towel.  
“And make sure to bring your friend with you, next time,” Lily added with a smile.  
“I will. Thank you both.”

Remus bundled himself up again and retrieved his briefcase before stepping out into the cold. The wind howled in the eaves and the dark, heavy sky seemed about to bring its winter offering much earlier than promised, but Remus felt and saw none of it. He could swear that every single nerve ending in his left shoulder was on fire.

=====

  


“You’re grinning like an idiot,” Peter pointed out charitably. He gestured vaguely toward Remus with his second beer bottle.  
Remus straightened and grabbed his own bottle up from the stained coffee table. “Am not.”  
“Are too.”  
“I _am not_.”  
“You are so transparent right now, Remus. It’s embarrassing.”  
Remus slumped back against the squishy couch cushions and took a swig of his beer, glowering faintly at Peter all the while. After work that day, Peter had invited Remus over to his flat for a beer, as thanks for the lemon tart. The place brought back a score of memories for Remus, who had spent a lot of his undergraduate days under this very roof, but right now, the lingering sensation of Sirius’ fingertips on his shoulder was what was occupying his thoughts.

In the back of his mind, he knew that he was letting this get out of hand. It was one thing to fancy a bloke’s looks upon meeting him, but completely another to react to his touch in such a manner. He had spent quite a bit of the afternoon gazing out the window at the frosted streets, his chin propped up absently in his palm, as he replayed the moments of his brief, friendly contact with Sirius in his mind. It was a warm little daydream that he had indulged for longer than he should have, and for that he was dutifully ashamed.

Apparently, this was still not enough to erase the stupid, subconscious grin from his face, which was only further proof that life was indeed bollocks.

Peter cocked a grin at him and leaned forward expectantly.  
“So,” he said, faking nonchalance terribly, “how’s your client doing?”  
“All right. They’re making headway, I think. If they keep it up, they just might pull through.”  
“Good show.”  
“Yeah. How about you? Any grand developments?” Remus asked, though he already knew the answer.  
Peter shrugged and reclined against the arm of the couch. “Nah, you know me, just doing my own thing. Something will turn up eventually.”  
“You mean a client?”  
“I can get clients any time I like. One case is enough for me for now, though. No, I mean in...in life.”  
Peter took a hasty gulp of beer in a clumsy attempt to hide the way his tone had changed just then, but Remus was too quick. “Life, huh? What d’you mean?”  
“You know,” said Peter quickly, “things. Life. You know.”  
“Pete...?”  
“You know what I mean, right? Just life.”  
“I’m afraid I don’t.”  
Peter waved his free hand in the air above his head, like he was searching for something on a top shelf. When Remus still failed to understand, he let his arm drop and sighed deeply.

Remus set his beer back on the coffee table and shifted sideways in his seat, so that he was facing Peter and leaning both arms up on the back of the couch. He let his head fall slightly against his arms, giving his friend all his attention.

Peter stared at him for a second, but the blank look soon gave way to a troubled one. He set his beer down on the floor. “Remus...” he began softly, “you...you like your job, right? Working for my dad?”  
Remus shrugged. “Yeah, sure. It’s okay.”  
“But it’s not really what you want to do forever, is it?”  
“Er...”  
“I don’t think I...I don’t think I want to be an accountant anymore.”  
Remus blinked slowly. The beer had already begun to settle like a light veil over his brain. Still, he was able to ask the question that had been hovering on his lips for some time, perhaps even since their university days: “Did you ever really want to be an accountant?”  
Peter looked stricken. “I-I don’t know.”  
“It was rhetorical, Pete.”  
“Oh.” He snatched his beer back from the floor and took a mighty swig. “I...I guess you have a point. B-But my dad, he was so...so proud...to have his son follow in his footsteps...”  
“I know,” Remus said kindly.  
“And...and all I ever do is lay about the office all day and...and what? Nothing. I’m useless in finance. Abso-bloody-lutely useless.”  
“O-Oh, come now, Pete. You’re not useless.”  
“...big, useless lump of useless junk... _guh_...”  
“Peter, you’re not useless,” Remus snapped, louder and with a lot more slightly slurred words than he intended. “You just haven’t found it yet. The thing.”  
Peter cradled his beer and looked at him blearily. “The thing?”  
“Yeah, the thing. The thing that’ll make it all worth it.”  
“It?”  
“Life.”  
“Oh. Yeah.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Good.”  
Peter tipped his head back and chugged down the last of his beer, then set the empty bottle down on the floor next to his first with a loud _clink_.  
“So I s’pose you’ve found it, then?” said Peter abruptly. He was not nearly as buzzed as Remus had thought.  
Remus frowned at him, packing himself tighter against the cushions. “Found what?”  
“The thing. The thing that will make it all worth it. That’s why you’ve been staring off into space and grinning like a damn fool all day.”  
“I _do not_ grin like a damn fool.”  
“Do too. Is it him?”  
“Who?” said Remus suspiciously, in a tone of I-do-not-like-where-this-is-going. It was a tone that Peter, as was his habit, pointedly ignored. He said, with another swish of his hand, “That bloke at your clients’ bakery. Sirius.”  
“What? Are you implying that he might be my ‘thing’?”  
“S’good as any.”  
“Good Lord, Peter. You haven’t even seen him.”  
At this, Peter straightened and gave a crooked sort of smile. “I did, actually. Went with one of the senior accountants who got the job first. I thought he looked just your type, actually. Tall, dark, handsome, with a hint of scoundrel?”  
Remus groaned and hid his face on the crooks of his elbows, blushing to his ears. “You do not realize the meaning of the words coming out of your mouth, do you?”  
“I’m not _that_ pissed yet,” Peter replied, kicking Remus halfheartedly from the other end of the couch. “Would like to be, though. So is it him?”  
“It’s not going to happen,” Remus griped against his elbows. “He’s just the bloke who works for my clients and that’s all he’ll ever be.”  
“Sounds to me like you’re complaining.”  
“Why should I complain? I knew it from the start. Get me another beer.”

Peter obliged, and soon Remus was nursing his third while Peter polished off a fourth. Their disjointed conversation lulled, so that they lay sprawled on Peter’s cheap couch drinking cheap beer in companionable silence for some time.

Suddenly, as he was uncapping his fourth beer and Peter his fifth, Remus said, “He’s just a bloke. Just another bloke like all the others.”  
Peter hiccoughed.  
“So what if he’s nice to me now and makes fantastic pastries and has nice arms?” Remus continued gruffly. “In the end, he’s just a bloke. Just another goddamn bloody bloke like all the rest.”  
“All the rest?” said Peter fuzzily.  
“I shouldn’t even be thinking about him at all. Stupid Sirius. I can’t.”  
“Remus...”  
“Not him or his forearms or his cheekbones or his stupid-bloody-fantastic arse...”  
“Remus...!”  
“What, Pete?”  
“Have you ever been...hurt by any of those?”  
“What?”  
“You know...hurt. Badly. So that you’d be wary of all blokes after that.”  
“God, you’re pissed.”  
“Damnit, Remus, I’m being serious.”  
“...no. No, I haven’t ever been hurt. Not badly. Just the usual.”  
“Distance. Rupture. Heartbreak,” said Peter in a vaguely sing-song voice.

They both sighed and swigged their bottles.

“Besides,” Remus went on, narrowly avoiding spilling beer down his front as he leaned back, “he doesn’t really show any signs of...you know...”  
Peter snorted. “As if your gaydar is completely infallible.”  
“I like to think it is,” Remus replied, but was too sloshed to feel particularly affronted.  
“Have you even tried asking him out?”  
“No. Of course not.”  
“Well, if you’re going to be mooning over him all the time, you might as well.”  
“Pete, _no_. I’ll make a fool of myself.”  
“You’d do a lot more in life if you forgot about that. What if he says yes?”  
“He wouldn’t,” Remus said stubbornly. He stared moodily at the label on his beer bottle. Across the couch, Peter was studying Remus with as much concentration as a man with almost five beers in his system possibly could.

Finally, Peter sighed and tossed back the rest of his beer. Remus watched him as he rose unsteadily from the couch and gathered up the empty bottles and placed them by the door. The totter in his step was indicative of the mixture of his troubled thoughts with all that alcohol.

As though coming to his senses, Remus put his beer down on the coffee table. He lay back, taking up the full length of the couch, and stared up at the water-bruised ceiling. “When did this become a pity party?” he grumbled.  
“Hell if I know. I just wanted a nice, friendly drink, since we hadn’t...” Peter paused, belched loudly, and resumed, “...hadn’t done that in a while.”  
“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for that.”  
Peter smiled faintly. Remus sat up and stretched, then clambered to his feet and said, “Well, I guess I’ll be going.”  
“Going? Where?”  
“Home, Pete. To my flat. In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t live here anymore.”  
“There’s no way I’m letting you bike through the streets of London like that,” Peter said, sounding for all the world like a worried mother hen, albeit a more-than-halfway drunk one. “You should stay tonight. There’s plenty of room.”  
“Oh. Er. All right.”  
Peter nodded firmly and teetered off to get the spare linen, while Remus sat on the couch and gazed unseeingly out the single living room window.

Night had fallen almost as soon as they had gotten to Peter’s flat, yet another sign that winter was fast approaching. Soon, it would be December, and Christmas. After that, January, and the New Year. Remus was not sure if he would have the heart to celebrate it much. Surely, he would not have much to do except come over to Peter’s for a drink or two, and maybe Christmas Eve take-out. But even Peter would be leaving briefly after that, to see his parents and his more distant relatives, leaving Remus to celebrate alone in snowy London.

Well, he did not mind much. He could make dinner for himself and watch Christmas specials on the telly. Perhaps he would visit his parents’ graves, tell them how he had been.

His thoughts drifted back to Peter, who, it seemed, was finally beginning to question his way of life. It was true that accounting was the not the most exciting, fascinating profession in the world, but at least it was realistic and down-to-earth. He had never thought Peter would much enjoy it, and had even tried to talk him out of it at some point, but back then Peter had laughed it off and said that it would do, that there was nothing else he wanted to do anyway. And besides, Dad will be proud. He’ll be happy.

Remus was glad that now, at least, Peter was beginning to see that it wasn’t really his father’s happiness that mattered most at the moment.

As for Remus, he had chosen this of his own accord. He could do it. He would not complain. It was a good job that he did well, and even though it would take him several years still to pay off his student loans, he could not possibly want more, could he?

Peter returned with the sheets and an extra pillow, his footsteps heavy with drink and sleepiness.  
“Here, mate. Make yourself comfortable.”  
“Thanks.”  
“No problem. Hey, Remus.”  
“Mm?”  
Peter leaned over the back of the couch and looked Remus straight in the eyes. “You know, I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think you should.”  
Remus looked at him, poised in the act of spreading a sheet over the couch. He could not say anything. He schooled his expression into one of confusion.

The moment passed, and Peter straightened. “Guess you’re drunk off your arse, eh? Fine, lightweight. See you in the morning.”  
Remus said, “Yeah. G’night.”  
“G’night.”  
Peter shuffled off to his room. Remus finished making his bed and seated himself on top of it. He kicked off his shoes and folded his legs up under him, propping his arms up on the back of the couch as he had before. He let his head fall to the side, let his eyes fall half-closed, let the swirling worry-thoughts, the stunning bright hope-thoughts, and the soft resigned tired-thoughts wash over him through the haze of alcohol. In this way, he dozed, fully-dressed, with his gut full of take-out dinner and beer and his heart full of a familiar heaviness he just could not get rid of.

_“You know, I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think you should.”_

_I know, Pete. I’m sorry._

=====

  
The next Monday, after a whole weekend of staying in and entertaining himself with a paperback novel he had been meaning to read for some time, Remus encountered one of the most surprising events of his young adult life. For one thing, Sirius actually looked happy to see him that day.

“Oi! Remus! About bloody time you got here!”

For another, he looked absolutely _ecstatic_ , which Remus immediately pegged as one of his better looks. Surely Remus’ slight smile had everything to do with having received an actual greeting from the man today, and nothing to do with the fact that he had called him by name, and not the contemptuous _Lupin_ he had gotten used to.

The door had barely closed behind Remus before Sirius was upon him, balancing a large plate of pastries in one hand. With the other hand, Sirius tugged hard on Remus’ scarf to pull it away from his nose and mouth, saying, “Off with that. You need to eat some of this right now.”  
“I think not,” Remus replied immediately as he snatched possessively at his scarf. “Not until I know what it is.”  
“It doesn’t have a name yet,” Sirius said with mock-patience. “I just invented it this weekend. Call it my newest specialty, if you will.”  
Remus slowly unraveled his scarf as he eyed the pastries. These ones were an even deeper golden-brown than the first one Remus had had, cream-filled, and drizzled over with a reddish glaze.  
“Is that strawberry glaze?”  
Sirius snorted. “Strawberry. How very pedestrian. That, my poor, ignorant finance monger, is a glaze made from an assortment of wild berries.”  
“Wild!” Harry added from his usual table.  
“Wild indeed,” said Sirius with a pleased grin. “Now sit down and have some.”  
“Sirius, I haven’t even had lunch yet.”  
“You can eat lunch later. Right now, I need someone who knows nothing about pastries to taste this.”  
“Well, in that case,” said Remus with a roll of his eyes, “I suppose I must oblige.”  
“Excellent. Here, Harry, you have one too.”  
Harry reached eagerly for the treat as Remus seated himself at an adjacent table. As always, the other tables were deserted.

Sirius placed a smaller plate down before Remus and set a single wild berry and cream pastry on it, fussing with the presentation as Remus watched. Remus said, “Is it always this empty at this time? It’s lunch now, isn’t it?”  
“Yeah,” said Sirius distractedly, “there are usually a couple of people in. Little old ladies and the like. They haven’t been in a while, though. Must be the cold.”  
“Mm.”  
Sirius straightened and pushed the plate closer to Remus. “There. Go on, try it and tell me what you think.”  
Remus picked up the pastry and bit carefully into it, trying not to get cream all over his face. Harry, however, seemed to have no qualms about this, and was happily smearing it over his mouth and chin as he ate. Sirius ran to get a napkin for him.

Remus had to stop himself from closing his eyes with delight. The pastry’s crust was flaky but gave easily under his teeth. The cream filling was light and fluffy, with just the right amount of sweetness, and the wild berry glaze did indeed make plain strawberry seem quite ordinary with its enhanced tanginess. The whole put together was simply the most delectable thing Remus had ever tasted.

Halfway through the process of wiping Harry’s face off with a clean damp rag, Sirius twisted around to look at Remus over his shoulder. “Well? How is it?”  
Remus swallowed. “M’not sure. My mind is pretty much blown right now.”  
Sirius smiled and turned back to Harry. “Brilliant. They’ll sell like hotcakes, then?”  
“We can only hope.”  
“Brilliant,” Sirius said again. He finished cleaning Harry up and picked up the large plate of pastries, saying to Harry in a conspiratorial whisper, “Now don’t tell your dear mum I gave you a sweet before lunch. She’ll go bonkers.”  
Harry nodded soberly. Remus restrained a smile.

Satisfied, Sirius returned to the counter and carefully placed the rest of the pastries behind the display glass.  
“So why’re you here today?” Sirius asked as he cleaned up behind the counter. “Come to tell us to switch for even cheaper ingredients? Or perhaps you want us to rethink our retirement plans?”  
“Oh, er...”  
Why had he come? It was actually still a little early for lunch, and Lily did not even seem to be around. It definitely could not be that he had come here for Sirius. The very thought was simply ridiculous.  
“Just...wanted to see how things were carrying on,” Remus said lamely.  
Sirius raised his eyebrows at him. “Well, all right. As you can see, we’re just fine.”  
“Indeed.”  
“James and Lily are still upstairs sleeping, so you’ll have to wait for lunch.”  
“Sleeping? Whatever for?”  
Sirius’ expression darkened, but for once his anger did not seem to be directed toward Remus. “They’re just tired. It’s from all this running around and getting the bakery back, _and_ taking care of Harry. It’s taking its toll.”  
Sirius’ gaze shifted to Harry, who was now amusing himself with a few plastic toy dinosaurs. He sighed.  
“I hope you meant it when you said you’d help us,” he said in a low voice. “It means a lot to them.”  
“Of course I meant it. I don’t go back on my word.”  
“Hmph.”  
Sirius resumed his cleaning, cursing under his breath at the mess. He opened a drawer, then another, then slammed them both closed. He turned and glanced crossly around the room, hands on his hips.  
“Bloody hell,” he said matter-of-factly.  
“Blood ‘ell,” said Harry without looking up.  
“Oh, _shit_. Lily’s gonna give me hell for teaching him that one.”  
“S’what you get for talking like that in front of him,” said Remus smugly.  
Sirius turned to him with a scowl. “You can shut your mouth, Mister High-And-Mighty-Accountant, and help me look for that dishrag.”  
Sirius turned away and continued to look around his work area as Remus glanced around the shop from his seat. Harry was making squeaking sounds as he played, accompanying the plastic dinosaurs while he made them gallop across the table and back again, where they merrily trampled a squishy white meadow.  
“Oh. Wait. I found it.”  
Remus stood and gently took the damp dishrag away from Harry, who ceased playing and looked up at him with gooey green eyes.  
“Sorry,” Remus told him, “need to return this to your goddad.”  
“God’ad.”  
“That’s right.”  
Harry returned to his game, and Remus walked around the counter to hand Sirius his dishrag.  
“He’s learning quite fast,” said Remus.  
Sirius accepted the rag and smiled, looking fondly over at the boy playing on the table. “Yes, he’s quite smart. But then, he should be, what with Lily being his mother and all that.”  
Remus laughed. “She does seem very brilliant.”  
“She is. He’s lucky to have her. Not that James isn’t brilliant too,” Sirius added as he began to swipe across the countertop with the remoistened rag, “it’s just...a different kind of brilliance, I guess.”  
“Mm. You’re all excellent at what you do here, though.”  
“’Course,” said Sirius stiffly, “except for the making money part, apparently.”  
They lapsed into uncomfortable silence for a moment, as Sirius cleaned and Harry played and Remus stood behind the counter doing nothing.

After a while, he seemed to come to his senses and said, “Oh, I suppose I’m in the way. I’ll just...”  
“No need. Here.”  
Sirius tossed Remus another rag and gestured toward the opposite counter. Remus looked at him, bewildered. Sirius jerked his head toward the counter again, looking as though he was making the most natural request in the world.

Remus sighed and rolled up his shirtsleeves, wondering what in God’s name is he was doing even as he was running the rag under the tap and beginning to wipe the counter. Sirius turned away to do the same, but not before Remus caught a glimpse of the cheeky grin on his face. Silently, Remus scrubbed the counter, mentally cursing every holder of the Black name, past, present, and future.

They worked standing back to back for some time, listening to Harry’s dinosaurs rampaging across the table, until Remus thought he was done. He cleaned the rag out in the sink and draped it over the edge to dry.  
“Squeaky clean over there?” Sirius asked.  
“The squeakiest,” said Remus firmly.  
Sirius came over to inspect Remus’ work, and rewarded him with a light, if slightly condescending, pat on the back.  
“Looks like you’re good for something other than making people’s lives miserable. Good show.”  
“Thank you,” Remus replied with every bit of sarcasm he could muster.  
Sirius rewarded his sarcasm with a boyish wink – _Did he just bloody_ wink _at me_ —shit, _why do my legs feel like jelly? Must be tired_... – and waved him away, seeming to think he had done enough for the time being. Remus returned to the customer side of the bakery, wondering if this was his cue to leave.

“Weemus.”  
It took a moment before Remus realized Harry was saying his name. He turned to the boy, his shock plainly apparent on his face.  
“Y-Yes?”  
“Weemus,” Harry said again. He reached out with one pudgy little hand and offered him one of the plastic dinosaurs, a long-necked one of an odd purplish colour.  
“He wants you to play with him,” said Sirius from the counter. He sounded amused, which was at once flattering and extremely mortifying to the poor accountant.  
“Oh. Oh, well...I suppose.”  
Remus seated himself hesitantly beside the play table and took the proffered dinosaur from Harry, who grinned. Remus smiled. “Thank you.”  
Harry gave a shake of the head, as though to say “No problem, mate”, and resumed playing. Not really knowing what to do, Remus imitated him. Harry recommenced his hooting dinosaur sounds, bumping his hand regularly against Remus’ as the creatures galloped. 

A few minutes passed like this before Remus finally had the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing him since the week before.  
“Mister Bla–...Sirius?”  
“Hm?”  
“If you’re all making such a low income here, why don’t you try something else?”  
“What d’you mean? Is this another one of your finance tricks?” said Sirius suspiciously.  
“No, no. I’m just saying. I mean, with your skills, you could easily find work as a pastry chef. James and Lily too. You’re all talented. I can’t imagine you having that much trouble finding jobs.”  
Sirius was silent. Remus and Harry made the dinosaurs run another lap back and forth across the table, then Remus decided to take his chances.  
“Especially you, Sirius. You do incredible things in this bakery, but just imagine what you could do in a high-class establishment. What with your skills and your education, you could–”  
“You just don’t get it, do you?”  
Remus raised his eyes at the low tone and, as he thought, met Sirius’ stormy grey eyes. He had ceased working and was hunched over the counter. His hairnet was scrunched in one tightly clenched hand, so that his long black hair hung down over his shoulders and across his forehead, mussed from the intensity of his stance.  
“You’re all business, aren’t you, Lupin?” Sirius growled. “All business, nothing else. Do you realize how sad that is? Do you?”  
“I–“  
“Because I don’t think you do. No, you definitely don’t, because if you _did_ –“ he slammed his fist down on the counter once, making both Remus and Harry jump, “then you wouldn’t be suggesting that we just give up _our dream_.”  
Remus’ eyes widened as he realized the extent of his folly. “Wait, Mister Black, just listen–”  
“No! _You_ listen, you great, gormless idiot, because you obviously have some learning to do. Now I don’t know what kind of fancy degree you need to tell us how to manage our money, but I very much doubt it gives you the right to tell me what you just did.”  
“I’m only trying–”  
“Have you ever had a dream, Lupin? Something you really wanted? Something you would do _anything_ to obtain?”  
“I...”  
Remus tried to say “Yes, of course, everyone has dreams” or something equally diplomatic, but for some reason the words would not come out, would not even form on his lips. Finally, he just closed his mouth and looked away, toward the table decorated with Harry’s crayon scribbles. Harry’s hands had stopped moving, like he was listening intently.

“That’s a ‘no’, isn’t it?” said Sirius quietly. He shook his head and seemed about to continue, but his anger had gone as quickly as it had come. He settled for scrubbing ineffectually at the already clean counter.

Remus put the purple dinosaur down on the table and reached up to gently pat Harry on the head. Harry said, “Weemus?”  
“I think I should go. Sorry, Harry. I’ll play with you again next time.”  
“’kay,” said Harry sadly. He picked up his dinosaurs and started again with markedly diminished enthusiasm.

Remus donned his coat and scarf again and left. Sirius did not say a word of parting, so neither did he.


	3. Part Three: In Which The Pastry Is Prepared

**Part Three  
In Which The Pastry Is Prepared**

The week filtered slowly past, trapping the city of London in an oppressive inter-season cold.

Upon returning to work on Monday, Remus had taken to keeping a scrap piece of paper on the side, which he scribbled on at random intervals with a look of extreme concentration. Although he seemed to be working with the same care as usual, there was a new intensity to his gaze and a rather frightening rigidity to his posture, which caused most of the _Ackerly & Pettigrew_ staff to subconsciously avoid him for the next few days. Even Peter, who was usually just the person to shatter Remus’ rare but potent bad moods, kept to himself for a time, although he cast worried looks across the office so often that he got even less work done than normal.

By Friday morning of that week, Remus’ scrap page was nearly full of his scrawl, in a script so messy and clearly _angry_ that he barely recognized his own handwriting. The page was crumpled as though having been roughly handled, and marked by a very obvious tea cup stain in the bottom right corner.

Sometime before lunch on that cold, dreary Friday, Remus abruptly dropped his pencil, pushed his computer keyboard away, and pulled the scrap paper from underneath a pile of folders. He glanced around furtively at his coworkers, and seeing that they were carefully avoiding his eyes, he thought it safe to begin his perusal of the scrap paper. 

It said:

  
_REMUS J. LUPIN’S  
LIST OF DREAMS_   


\- drink tea every morning and night  
\- have good friend(s)  
\- cast a plague on the house of Black  
\- learn to cook something other than beef stew  
\- punch Sirius Black in the face  
\- get Peter to stand up for himself  
\- toss Sirius Black off a cliff  
\- see Mum and Dad again  
\- chuck Sirius Black into his own oven  
\- get a better bike  
\- and a better flat  
\- and a better life, come to think of it  
\- write a book  
\- hang Sirius Black by his own hair and leave him to rot  
\- pay my student loan  
\- pay Peter back for all the time I spent at his flat  
\- gut Sirius Black with a fishing knife  
\- get a fishing knife  
\- socks

Remus blinked down at the list. He picked up his pencil and crossed out “ _socks_ ”.

He read the list again, and crossed out “ _see Mum and Dad again_ ”, because that would never happen, of course, not until the end of his own life, so it had no place on the list.

He leaned back in his chair, dangling the piece of paper before his eyes as he read it again and again. Soon, he was no longer reading it, but merely watching the fluorescent light filtering weakly through the crumpled, tea-stained piece of paper.

Very calmly, he sat straight in his chair and proceeded to rip his list of dreams into very small pieces. A few other junior accountants looked up warily at the sound. One blanched visibly. 

Remus leaned over and dropped the pieces into his rubbish bin, like so much useless confetti. Then he straightened, picked up his pencil, and went back to work. 

Remus’ watchers continued to stare at him for some time, not knowing if they should do or say anything to their troubled colleague, but eventually they each decided against it and returned to their own business.

Footsteps sounded cautiously across the floor, seeming very loud in the virtually silent room. They stopped right in front of Remus’ desk.

“Remus? You all right, mate?”  
“No,” said Remus quietly. He continued to write without looking up.  
Peter shifted awkwardly, waiting for Remus to say more, but when he did not, Peter said, “What was on the paper?”  
“A list.”  
“A list of what?”  
“A list of my dreams.”  
“Oh. Um. So why did you rip it up?”  
“Because it was all rubbish.”  
“Rubbish? How could your dreams be rubbish?”  
“They were _rubbish_ , Peter,” Remus said in a stronger voice, “because they were petty. Stupid, trivial desires. Lurid, murderous fantasies...”  
“ _What?_ ”  
“...and other stupid things that cannot be counted as dreams. Rubbish belonging with all the rest of my rubbish.”

Peter’s expression became desperately worried. He swayed on the spot, torn between the desire to attempt to comfort his best mate and the thought that maybe he should be left alone. He waited, feeling very exposed, almost terrified, because if Remus thought that _his_ life was terrible and dreamless, then what of Peter’s? If Remus – intelligent, good-looking, ever well-intentioned Remus – was unable to find direction to his life, then how was Peter, who would never be more than a _shred_ of what Remus Lupin was, supposed to make any sense of his? How was that _fair?_

Peter stood stock-still in front of Remus’ desk for long minutes, fists clenched and jaw set very hard. It was a long moment before Remus deigned to look up at him, eyes shadowed and expression wan from sleep-lacking nights, and by then Peter was nearly trembling with an emotion he could not name.

“What is it, Peter?” asked Remus wearily. “I don’t want to talk right no–”  
“ _There’s nothing wrong with having simple dreams!_ ” Peter shouted, so that everyone nearby jumped in their seats. “Do you hear me, Remus? There’s nothing wrong with it at all!”  
Remus could only look at him, stunned, and this time Peter did not wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and marched back to his desk. He seated himself firmly and began to work, a freshly sharpened pencil flying across the page as he started crunching the numbers of his current client. 

From inside his office, Mister Pettigrew had caught sight of his suddenly industrious son, and currently looked just as shocked as everyone else.

There was not a sound in the office except for the scratch of Peter’s pencil and the _tap-tap-tap_ of his calculator. This went on for several moments before Peter, already sick of the scrutiny, threw his pencil to his desk and glared round at the myriad astonished faces.  
“Oi, you lot,” he said crossly, “at least have the decency to not look so damn surprised. Just because I don’t advertise my accounting skills all day, doesn’t mean I don’t have any–”

Remus stood abruptly, so that his chair clattered to the floor behind him. Everyone’s gazes jerked his way.

“Advertise,” he said softly, “that’s it.”  
“What’s it?” a neighboring accountant asked from his desk.  
“ _That’s it_.”

Remus bounded around his desk and ran right up to Peter’s. He slammed his palms down on its surface, scattering pencils and papers and misshapen paper clips.  
“Peter!”  
“Remus,” Peter squeaked. He looked terrified all over again.  
“I’ve got it, Pete! Lily Potter told me a while ago that they had done a little bit of advertising in the past. Just a small black and white ad in the paper, nothing too grand because they couldn’t afford it. So now I know what I have to do!”  
“A-And what’s that?”  
“I have to do the advertising myself,” Remus declared in a fierce voice. “I have to bring the customers to them. That’s what I have to do. That is my quest.”  
“Qu-Quest...”  
Remus turned and faced the room, clapping his hands loudly. “Listen up, everyone! Who wants a free lunch today?”  
A few of his colleagues perked up interestedly, but most everyone else only looked confused. Remus went on, “Come on, I’m offering as it is. The place isn’t far, if you’re wondering. Just on Diagon Alley. Come on now!”  
“What’s the occasion?” someone asked pertly.  
Remus was about to shout “No occasion, you daft sod”, but Peter thought faster and said, “It’s Friday.”  
Remus glanced back at Peter. Peter’s expression lit up with sudden, beautiful realization.  
“It’s my dad’s birthday today,” he said happily. “I was just going to buy him something on the way home, but I think he’d enjoy it if we all had a celebratory lunch with him.”  
“Yes, yes!” Remus added enthusiastically. “So what do you all say? It’s all on me! Come on! Right now!”  
“Well, if you’re paying,” someone else said. There were murmurs of agreement around him, and people began to rise to fetch their coats. 

Remus had to suppress the urge to jump and shout his ecstasy. In lieu of this, he turned and gave Peter his warmest smile, which Peter tentatively returned.  
“I’m sorry, Pete,” Remus said softly. “Really, I...I’ve been really, really disagreeable these days, haven’t I?”  
“Quite,” said Peter with a grin, “but that’s all right. Thanks to you and your disagreeable-ness, I had my moment in the spotlight. Did you see how shocked everyone was?”  
Remus nodded. “But is that really all you want? To live simply?”  
“Sure, why not? It’s not for everyone, but for me, it’s more than enough. Now come on, we should prolly go tell my dad where we’re going. It’s his birthday lunch, after all.”  
“I completely forgot it was his birthday. Some best mate I am.”  
“As long as you don’t forget mine.”  
Peter pushed open the door to his father’s office and said cheerfully, “Hi, Dad.”  
Remus said, “Happy birthday, sir.”  
Mister Pettigrew still looked bewildered. “Thank you. Er, Peter, Remus, what the devil is going on, exactly?”  
“Everyone’s decided to have a lunch in honour of your birthday, Mister Pettigrew. Would you like to come along?”  
“They make good lemon tarts at the place we’re going,” Peter added.  
Mister Pettigrew merely looked puzzled now, but soon his lined face broke into a smile, and he stood. “Oh, might as well. Since I’m the one being celebrated and all that.”

Ackerly poked his head into the office, looking rather confused himself. “What’s all this, then, Pettigrew?”

=====

  
In a few minutes, some twenty accountants and their bosses were on their way to _Harry’s_ bakery on Diagon Alley, all eagerly anticipating a free lunch. Remus rode in the backseat of Mister Pettigrew’s car beside Peter, and was so glad that he was barely bothered by the fact that this expense would force him to survive on marmite on toast for the next two weeks.

Remus pushed through the door first. James, Lily, and Sirius were all behind the counter today, working at various things. It was Harry who spotted Remus first from his usual vantage point.  
“Weemus!” he cried, and wiggled happily on his table.  
“Goodness!” Lily exclaimed. “What’s going on?”  
“Business,” said Remus with a smile.  
James was grinning like an utter fool, having caught on as soon as the crowd of accountants had come into view. He cleaned off quickly and crossed to room the pick up Harry.  
“Come on, little man, let’s bring you upstairs. Mummy and Daddy have lots of work to do right now,” he said, struggling a little as Harry began to wriggle in his grip.  
“No!” Harry cried. “Weemus!”  
“Blimey,” James muttered as one of Harry’s flailing arms knocked his glasses askew. “Er, Remus, would you...?”  
“Of course.”  
Remus carefully took Harry from James, holding him firmly against his hip. Harry wrapped his little arms protectively around Remus’ neck and made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dinosaur hoot.  
“Put it all on one tab,” Remus told James quietly. “It’s on me today.”  
James held his gaze for a moment, his eyes looking extraordinarily bright, then he tapped Remus gratefully on the side of the arm and went back to the counter. Lily was already busy taking orders and making sandwiches, while Sirius was attending to those in front of the pastry displays. He kept his eyes carefully averted from Remus. 

Peter appeared by Remus’ elbow, munching happily on a lemon tart and not seeming the least bit concerned with the fact that his best mate was holding a child he had never seen before. “So, tell me...what does this accomplish exactly? Besides making you several dozen pounds poorer.”  
“Advertising,” Remus said again, smiling as he bounced Harry lightly on his hip. “The things they make here are good, but not a lot of people know it. Creating an event here will carve this place into their memories, so they’ll naturally spread the news and encourage even more people to come.”  
Peter gazed upon the crowd with the air of a man enlightened.  
“It’s still not a lot,” Remus continued, “but it’s a start. With some more effort, and little luck, we should have this bakery running as it deserves to soon enough.”  
They stood in silence for a while, watching the others seat themselves and begin to eat. Harry laughed and bounced in Remus’ arms, excited that so many people were filling what was formerly his playpen.

After a few minutes, everyone was served and eating enthusiastically. There did not seem to be a single complaint. Lily and James were radiant.  
“I never thought this would happen,” James said breathlessly as he took Harry back from Remus. “It’s just...wow. It’s full in here. All the tables are filled.”  
“This is what we envisioned, I think,” Lily added, watching the crowd with one hand on her breast, “when we thought this up. This is how we imagined it.”  
Peter asked, “Missus Potter, you wouldn’t happen to have a birthday candle or anything? I’d like to stick one in a pastry for my dad. It’s his birthday.”

Lily moved off to find one, Peter following along curiously, as James stood gazing around in wonderment, hugging Harry tight until the boy said, “Da’, leggo.”  
“D’you think this’ll work, Remus?” James asked anxiously. “I mean, it’s not like you can ask them to come every day.”  
“No, but we’ll find other ways. We just need a bit more creativity.”  
James beamed. “Yeah, of course. We’ve got plenty of that. We’ll find a way. Well, Harry, what would you like for lunch? How about a nice salad?”  
“Sweet,” Harry demanded.

James carried Harry to the counter to prepare him something healthier to eat. In the dining area, several employees of _Ackerly & Pettigrew_ cheered raucously as Peter presented his father with one of Sirius’ wild berry and cream pastries decked with a small lopsided wax candle. Remus watched them all, thinking about how relaxed everyone looked, how happy James and Lily and Harry looked, and could not help thinking back to his stunted list of dreams.

 _There’s nothing wrong with having simple dreams_. Perhaps he had been looking too far. Remus thought that he could probably live with this dream he was seeing. He could live with it very well.

A sort of peace came over him, soothing the ache in his chest. The heaviness still remained, but it had lightened. It was almost like learning to breathe anew.

“Nice stunt,” said a voice behind Remus.  
Remus turned. Sirius was leaning back against a low storage cabinet, observing Remus from under his lashes as he toweled his hands dry. There was a wariness in his deceptively relaxed stance, something in the slant of his shoulders and the tilt of his head, but there was something new too. Respect, perhaps? Approval?

“Thank you,” Remus said, and this time he was completely sincere.  
Sirius nodded vaguely and gestured him over. Remus glanced back at his co-workers then obliged. He leaned back against the cabinet in an awkward, mousy, wool-trouser-wearing parody of Sirius. They remained like this for several long moments.

Making a show of inspecting his fingernails, Sirius said, “You had me worried for a bit.”  
Remus tried not to smile. “Really?”  
“Mm. I thought I’d gone too far. That you’d decided it was time to give up.”  
“I told you I’m a man of my word.”  
“Apparently so.”  
A pause. Sirius adjusted his weight against the cabinet. Then he glanced sidelong at Remus, chin still tucked in, so that his grey eyes were level with Remus’ hazel ones.  
“I’m sorry,” Sirius said slowly, as though searching for the words, “for what I said the other day. I should know better than anyone that no one should ever be accused of having no dreams. It was cruel of me.”  
Remus frowned down at the floor, but now that certain things about his own dreams had just come to light, he found it difficult to bring back the anger he had felt before. He shook his head and smiled as best as he could, which clearly surprised Sirius, if his bemused expression was any indication.  
“That’s quite all right,” Remus told him. “I...I needed some perspective, and you gave it to me, albeit in a bit of a brutish manner, but...it’s okay.”  
“It’s okay?”  
“Yeah. I accept your apology. Again.”  
Sirius’ lips quirked up in a wry smile. Remus quite liked this smile too. He said, “And I’m sorry also. For suggesting you abandon your dream. If this is what you and James and Lily want to do, then by all means, do it. I’m behind you all a hundred percent.”  
“That’s very kind, Mister High-And-Mighty-Accountant,” said Sirius with a slight toss of his head. Then he sighed. “To be fair to you and your suggestion, it’s not like I haven’t considered it before. It’s just...”  
“What?”  
“...I don’t actually have a degree.”  
A pause, then Remus repeated, “What?”  
Sirius grinned crookedly, having the good grace to look sheepish. “Not in pastry arts, anyway. I started one, but never finished. It got too dull and technical, so I dropped out. Plus I find English pastry chefs to be terribly elitist.”  
“And you aren’t?”  
“Touché, my pastry-challenged friend.”  
“What _do_ you have a degree in, then?”  
“Oh, some business management thing or other,” Sirius said unconcernedly, waving a hand as though swatting away a fly. “My family are all business moguls, own lots of properties and what-not around London. When I was in high school, I decided I liked baking better, and went for it. And the rest, as they say, is a great sodding pile of history.”  
“I don’t think anyone says that.”  
“Shows what you know.”  
“I found my dream.”  
Sirius shifted again and looked Remus full in the face, his expression flickering between disbelief and amusement. “Yeah? What is it?”  
Remus glanced back toward the animated crowd, feeling the sight lift the corners of his mouth into a gentle smile. “I want to make everyone I care about happy.”  
Sirius was silent where Remus expected a snarky comment, or at the very least a scoff, and when Remus looked back he saw that Sirius was staring at him with his mouth hanging slightly open. He had to struggle very hard against the urge to push his chin up and close Sirius’ mouth with one outstretched finger.

Just as Remus was beginning to feel awkward again, Sirius snapped his mouth shut and threw his head back, letting loose a single, bark-like laugh that caused several accountants to turn their heads.  
“Now that’s not fair!” Sirius exclaimed. “That is just not fair, Mister Lupin, not fair at all.”  
“Why is it not fair? What?” asked Remus, alarmed.  
Sirius laughed again and let his head fall forward, leaning his forehead against his palm. “Gotten back at me, have you, by coming up with such a selfless, lofty goal? Makes me feel like a right prat now, it does. Oh, you’re good, Mister Accountant, you’re very good.”  
“I didn’t ‘come up’ with it,” Remus said in a miffed voice, “it’s true. It’s what I want. It’s what I would do anything to obtain.”  
Sirius regarded him sideways for the space of a beat, then raised his head. “And how are you doing so far? In accomplishing this dream of yours?”  
Remus looked steadily back at him although his heart was thundering, quite without his consent. “Not too bad. Still lots to be done, though. You?”  
“Same. Long road ahead.”  
“Mm.”

Remus’ colleagues were finishing up now, some of them rising to order extra pastries before they returned to the office. James was serving them energetically, so Sirius and Remus stayed where they were, watching as the crowd slowly trickled away, until only a few stragglers, Peter, and Mister Pettigrew were left.  
“Very lovely establishment you have here, ma’am,” Pettigrew was saying to Lily, “very fine. I’ll be sure to come back soon.”  
Lily’s eyes fairly twinkled. “Thank you, sir, it would be very much appreciated.”  
The old man nodded politely at her and her husband before leaving the bakery, telling Peter and Remus to “not be long now, we all need to get back to work, even on our birthdays”. Peter acquiesced and turned to James to requisition another tart or three for the road.

“Guess I should be going,” Remus said, keeping his tone light. “Suppose I should write a cheque?”  
“Oh, don’t worry about it, dear,” Lily said. “You give it to us next time you come around. Right now you should be running along.”  
“Th’numbers aren’t gonna crunch themselves, yeah?” Sirius added. “Oh, wait.”  
“Hm?”  
“Say. Are you free tomorrow night? Got any account-erly things to do?”  
Remus desperately willed his racing heart to be still. “I’m not doing anything. Why?”  
Sirius scratched the back of his head, mussing up the already loose ponytail there. “Oh, it’s just that James and I were going to go for a drink or two tomorrow night at the Leaky Cauldron, and I thought...I dunno, that you’d like to come or something. Since we’re all mates now and all that.”  
The rate at which Remus’ heart rose and swelled surprised even him, who was beginning to think himself resistant to such things. “Oh. Er. I could come, yeah. If you want. If James wants.”  
“If James wants what?” James called from across the room.  
“If James wants to let our accountant in on our little drinking outing tomorrow,” Sirius called back.  
“James wants! Tell him!”  
“James wants,” Sirius said with a completely straight face.  
“I heard,” Remus said dryly, biting his lip to prevent his laughter from bubbling up. “Okay, tomorrow at the Leaky Cauldron, then.”  
“At eight. D’you know where it is?”  
“Around here, right? I’ll find it.”  
“Brilliant. See you then.”  
“Cheers, lads,” James yelled as Peter and Remus exited.

Mister Pettigrew had already started the car and was waiting for them, but neither he nor Mister Ackerly seemed in any particular hurry. Peter paused by the door and took the opportunity to fish another lemon tart of out his little paper bag of purchased sweets.  
“So,” he said between bites, “did you ask him out yet?”  
Remus cuffed him on the back of the head in response, but he was grinning again.

=====

  
“I have nothing to wear.”

The clothes in his closet seemed to shrug on their hangers as Remus pushed them apart with his hands. He had been searching for any all wearables for the past hour, but had quickly discovered that everything he owned was either too old, too frayed, or too unwashed to wear in decent company.

Remus sighed in frustration, blowing his fringe out of his eyes in the process. What was he getting so bent out of shape about, anyway? He already knew he was not the type to indulge in frequent clothes shopping trips. In fact, he tended to avoid clothing stores and aisles as much as possible when he was out, overwhelmed as he often was by the sheer variety of styles and colours available. There was a reason he stuck with subdued shades, greys and taupes and when he was feeling daring, the occasional blue.

“Well, what am I if not adventurous?” Remus mused aloud, completely unable to keep a straight face at the statement. He turned away from the closet and selected a navy blue collared shirt from the back of a chair. He sniffed it delicately. Definitely in need of a wash.

He turned back to the closet and fished around in the back before extricating a pair of faded grey jeans. They were wrinkled and slightly torn at the knee, but they were by far his best pair of jeans, which was good enough in his books. He moved out of the closet – hitting his head on the door on the way out and giving a good-natured curse in response – and piled a few more clothes from his room into his arms, then carried the whole to the sitting room, where the laundry basket was sitting on the couch like a lazy guest.

Remus dumped the armful of clothes into the basket and heaved it up. After luxuriating in bed until noon, he had planned on sitting around to fret and attempt to convince himself that this invitation out held absolutely no meaning at all, but doing the laundry seemed like a more productive use of his time. This was why he was now tromping down the stairs to the building’s basement, wondering which of his pairs of shoes was the less worn.

Remus actually enjoyed doing the laundry most days, as it offered him a break from all the numbers and clients (and Sirius, but he was not thinking of him, of course he was not), so it was with increased cheer that he pushed open the laundry room’s door with his hip and stepped into the welcome, familiar smell of linen and detergent and those fuzzy dryer sheets that some people like to put in their load. The place was happily deserted, allowing Remus full use of the best washer in the middle of the room, one of the only ones which did not stutter or subtly vibrate across the floor as it washed. With great care, he set his basket down on the table facing the washer and proceeded to toss his clothes in.

As the machine was going about the business of washing, Remus leaned back against it and let his mind wander...

...no, actually, wandering was bad. He disallowed his mind to wander because these days, wandering thoughts inevitably led to increasingly specific thoughts about a certain baker he was determined to not think about in any form or fashion. Mental meandering had simply become to dangerous to indulge in freely, and had to be kept under close surveillance. 

This was going to be a long day.

=====

  
At quarter to six, Remus’ freshly washed and dried clothes were lying at the ready on his bed, and Remus himself was making supper. He really was beginning to get tired of beef stew. He made a mental note to pick up a cookbook or two at the library the next time he was around.

At quarter past six, the stew was simmered and ready, and Remus served himself a generous helping. He ate standing at the kitchen counter, the warm bowl in his hands, as he listened with one ear to the news on the television.

At six thirty, he finished eating and proceeded to wash his bowl and utensils, allowing his gaze to wander over the strip of dark sky visible through his tiny kitchen window. When he was done, he shook out his hands distractedly and dried them on a handy towel.

At quarter to seven, he glanced at the microwave clock, and despaired.

=====

  
At long last, seven twenty rolled around, but it had done so with such torturous slowness that Remus was almost writhing with impatience once it was finally time to leave. He checked himself once more in the bathroom mirror, ran a cursory thumb pad over the dark circles under his eyes, frowned at himself, decided he ultimately did not care, and left the flat as quickly as his legs could carry him.

He had decided to take the bus to the area around the Leaky Cauldron, judging in advance that he was not enchanted with the idea of biking home in the dead of night. He resigned himself to the press of bodies and, half an hour later, found himself at the closest possible stop to his destination.

Cursing softly in the cold, Remus shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his coat and started walking. The street was dark in spots, where light had fled in the wake of the store owners who had long closed up for the night. Sometimes, a warm orange glow would colour the path before him, spilling from the upstairs window of a quaint residential building. It reminded him of a time long past, of long winter evenings spent in front of the fire of his childhood home. It had been a while since he had bathed in a glow like that himself.

Remus shook off the feeling of quiet sadness and nostalgia and kept going, until he finally sighted the brighter lights emanating from the Leaky Cauldron. The street was more lively around here as people moved in and out of the well-known pub, talking and laughing and looking well-alive.

Remus felt suddenly nervous and out of place, and longed for the solitude of his neat little flat.

“Oi! Remus!”  
The voice cut through the muddled murmur of the crowd, summoning him back from his panicked loner thoughts and back to a warmer world. Remus had been ready to force a smile, but he found that it came automatically as Sirius came into view.

Away from his duties to the bakery and the restrictions of health regulations, Sirius left his hair long and unbound over his shoulders, where it brushed like dark feathered wings against the collar of his beat-up leather jacket. The careless grin that Remus had first known all those weeks ago was in place on his handsome face. Remus was almost stunned at how freely he was offered that smile now, but really could not bring himself to examine all the implications of such an act because Sirius was next to him now and clasping his shoulder amicably, and it looked for all the world that they were long-time mates meeting up after a long while apart.

“’lo, Sirius,” said Remus as nonchalantly he could.  
“Wotcher, Mister Accountant,” replied Sirius. “Let’s head in, yeah? S’cold.”  
“No one actually says ‘wotcher’, Mister Black. Where’s James?”  
Sirius rolled his eyes and pushed Remus toward the door. “Maybe you don’t. And he’s not coming. Seems Harry came down with something last night and he feels the need to watch him like a hawk until he gets better. I swear it’s not the wife stealing my best mate, it’s the sprog.”  
Remus snorted with amusement, attempting to ignore how his heart was now beating double-time. “Just wait until you have kids,” he said, intentionally parroting James’ earlier comment.  
“Like that’ll ever happen,” said Sirius cheerily.

It was wonderfully warm inside the Leaky Cauldron, so Remus shucked off his coat and together the two made their way to two adjacent spots by the bar. Sirius ordered two beers for them and leaned back with his legs casually spread out against the bar stool, while Remus sat perched on his own stool, feeling oddly like a pudgy Harry sitting exposed on his designated tabletop.

Neither of them spoke nor even met the other’s eyes. Sirius seemed preoccupied with eyeing a few young women across the bar, and Remus was perfectly content with pretending Sirius did not exist and was certainly not sitting just a hair within his personal space, with highly nerve-wracking results. 

Their drinks arrived. Sirius twisted around to grab his, casting Remus a fleeting smile as he did so, which Remus returned to the best of his ability. He sipped his own drink, trying hard to avoid grimacing at the cold and strongly bitter taste. It was far removed from that of the cheap beer he usually partook of in Peter’s company. Sirius was, naturally, throwing his back without concern. Just one more thing for Remus to be deathly annoyed with about him.

They drank in a silence that was like drowning in the crowd, until Sirius suddenly said, “I don’t bite, you know.”  
Remus blinked over the rim of his glass. “Excuse me?”  
“You’re excused,” Sirius replied, grinning as Remus made a face at him. “I said I don’t bite. You’ve been quiet ever since we got here. You’re not afraid of me, are you?”  
“Who’d be afraid of _you?_ ” Remus retorted. He took a bolstering gulp of beer. “I’m just naturally quiet, quite the opposite of you, it seems.”  
“No need to be so petulant with me, Mister Accountant. I’m just saying.”  
“Well, I apologize, _Sirius_ , but there’s just something about you that makes me feel rather petulant.”  
Sirius whistled low and took a delicate sip of beer, mimicking Remus’ careful movements. Remus ignored him and drank deeply this time, as much out of defiance as out of the need to distill the words that had sounded perilously close to a confession.

Sirius polished off his drink and ordered another one, then he leaned farther back against the bar, slanting his shoulders in Remus’ direction.  
“So,” he started again, in a voice that would have been conspiratorial if it was not raised to counter the din, “which one do you fancy?”  
Remus raised his eyebrows at him, looking unimpressed. “This is it? We’re sitting awkwardly in a bar together, and you’re asking me to ogle women with you?”  
Sirius shrugged the shoulder closest to Remus. “It’s as good a conversation topic as any. So? Which one?”  
Remus sighed and set his glass down on the bar. As very tempting as it was to theatrically announce his sexual orientation to Sirius and be done with him once and for all, Remus doubted he would be able to stomach the embarrassment of outing himself in public, so he remained silent on the matter. Halfheartedly, he cast his gaze around the crowded pub until it alighted on a petite blonde woman with bright purple nails. He pointed her out to Sirius, who snorted.  
“What?” Remus said, trying his best to look affronted. “She’s pretty enough. And colourful nails are...interesting.”  
“I’m not asking you what you like about women’s _nails_. Good God, man, you act as if you’ve never looked at a girl before.”  
“I usually have better things to do.”  
“A likely story. How about that one, eh? I’m usually into brunettes, m’self.”  
“Please. You probably only are because they look more like _you_.”  
Sirius laughed uproariously as he had back in the bakery the day before, but the sound still startled Remus nearly out of his wits. Nevertheless, it eased the tension of the moment, and Remus had to hide a smile as he picked up his glass again and brought it to his lips. Sirius’ second beer arrived, and he drank lustily for a moment before setting the half-empty glass down without an ounce of care.  
“So you don’t like brunettes either, then?” Sirius began again, clearly adamant on having this discussion. “All right, then it’s redheads for you, I reckon. I _thought_ I saw you looking Lily up and down a couple of times.”  
Remus choked on his latest sip of beer, shaking his head indignantly even as he was spluttering to clear his windpipe. Sirius winked cheekily at him and raised his glass in mock-toast. “To your credit, she’s quite the beauty. Shall we toast to your torrid affair?”  
“ _Tosser_ ,” Remus gasped, but he was laughing even as he was desperately thumping himself on the sternum to encourage his breathing reflexes.  
Sirius’ arrogant grin faded to a smile, and he reached over to helpfully slap Remus on the back a few times. Remus brushed him off as he regained his control, smiling ruefully and declaring, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t dream of it.”  
Sirius faked a look of intense disappointment. “Shame. I was hoping you would actually turn out to be an utter scoundrel.”  
“Ah, but how cliché would _that_ be?” Remus replied, taking another careful sip of beer.  
“Right. On second thought, the world definitely needs more sarcastic, mousy accountants who are exactly as they look.”  
Remus laughed softly, feeling so at ease now he barely wondered how it was so easy to laugh and joke and banter with this man. Sirius looked pleased, and settled contentedly against the bar again as his gaze returned to the crowd.

After a brief, comfortable pause, Sirius said, “So tell me. I’m desperate to know, now. What kind of girl _do_ you like?”  
The smile dissolved from Remus’ lips. He hid the loss in his emptying glass, and wondered what to say. Sirius obviously noticed his silence, but did not comment on it again. His brow creased ever so slightly and his gaze was suddenly far-off, like he was contemplating something of great importance.

Then, to Remus’ astonishment, Sirius paused in bringing his glass to his lips and, leaning closer to him, he said as casually as anything, “And if I asked ‘what kind of _person_ do you like’, would you have more to say?”  
Remus’ expression, momentarily unguarded as it was, must have been tell-all, because Sirius nodded slowly, as though a great and serious truth had just been revealed to him, and returned to his drink. He said nothing more for some time, but his stance had changed minutely, like he was suddenly self-conscious or perhaps regretting what he had just said.

Remus looked around the room, casting about for something, _anything_ to say to make the moment pass. He wished Sirius had not said anything at all, or that Remus himself had had the presence of mind to deny the implication being made, as he usually did. 

_Damnit. What is it about him that makes me so damn helpless?_

Finally, he made his decision, and hoping that it was not too late, Remus said in his calmest tone, “If we’re going to ogle men now, I promise to not talk about their nails.”  
There was a pause that seemed to last at least thirty years, then Sirius snorted, and chuckled, and finally laughed when he could no longer contain it. Remus allowed himself a slow smile which morphed into a grin when Sirius turned to him, this time raising his beer in a genuine toast. They clinked their glasses together and drank. For the first time in ages, Remus felt extremely pleased with himself.

Sirius ordered more drinks for the two of them and settled against the bar again, his eyes shining with mischief as he gazed with renewed enthusiasm at the nighttime crowd.

“Well, then, back to business. How about that bloke there in the back, the one with the Ramones shirt? Reminds me a bit of a young Mick Jagger, which is never a bad thing, am I right?”  
Remus groaned and picked up his third beer.

=====

  
Overall, it had been a night to remember, for reasons obvious only in retrospect.

They had eventually parted around midnight, after hours of teasing and ribbing and indulging in their newfound friendship, and only because Remus had to leave for the last bus, or remain stranded on the opposite side of town for the whole night. They had talked about the bakery and Sirius had told stories about James and Lily and Harry, and Remus had, in turn, shared some words about Peter. Sirius had threatened to force introductions with some attractive bloke or other from across the room if Remus did not immediately grow the balls to do it himself, and Remus had retaliated by suggesting Sirius engage in rather complicated erotic acts with himself, to which Sirius had only laughed and laughed like he could not believe what he was hearing.

The long night had ended in slightly awkward fashion, self-consciousness returning to Remus for just a moment as he shook Sirius’ hand goodbye and lingered for just a fraction of a second too long, so that their eyes met while they were still standing close together. Fortunately, the moment passed quickly and they shared another companionable smile before Remus pulled away and waved gently with his fingertips. Then he was walking away, and had no reason to doubt Sirius was doing the same.

Now he was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark and wishing that morning would never come and that life would not simply go back to normal. He was not sure if he would enjoy “normal” as much as before, not with all that had happened in the past almost-three months, and especially not with the night that he had just spent in the company of the conspicuously abnormal Sirius Black.

Remus fell asleep just before dawn, wondering fuzzily if maybe he should rethink some of the Sirius-related items on his list of dreams.

=====

  
December arrived swiftly on the heels of the increasing cold, and soon all of London was encased in snow and a holiday cheer Remus tried hard to feel. It was difficult because he had been forced to abandon his bike for weeks now, resigning himself to the underground and the bus, when he remembered to bring change for the latter, and because Peter would soon be forsaking his company for that of his loving family, leaving Remus to curl up alone on his own couch, nursing a solitary mug of hot chocolate as the crowds counted down to the New Year on the telly.

“You have other friends, you know,” Peter would say around this time of year, a tone like pleading in his voice, “and you know you could always spend Christmas with us. Mum and Dad won’t mind at all.”  
But Remus could not. He told Peter he did not wish to intrude upon the Pettigrew family time, and Peter knew better than to insist further. 

So that was how Remus ended up doing his grocery shopping on December 22nd, pushing through the pulsing crowd with his plastic shopping bags in tow, thinking only of getting back to the safety of his flat and spending a quiet evening with his tea and a good book. He certainly was not thinking about his job (everyone was given vacation from that day until New Year’s) or the Potters’ bakery (closed too, the ground level dark), much less about Sirius (who was now civil, even friendly, and privy to one of his biggest secrets), but about nothing at all, only idle thoughts of Home and Tea and Silence, silence that was not unlike the overly-loud murmur of the crowd, silence that was definitely unlike that strangely familiar child’s wail...

Almost against his will, Remus raised his head and looked around. A familiar little bundle of boy was standing by the door of a small commerce, crying his heart out in the cold, wintry air.  
“Harry?” Remus said in disbelief.  
The tiny child stopped crying long enough to glance at him and sniff, before starting again with surprising vigour. Several shoppers had stopped to stare at the boy, some looking faintly annoyed. Feeling terribly self-conscious, Remus stooped beside Harry, shielding him from the strange looks.  
“Harry, m’boy, where’s your mum? Where is she, huh?”  
“Mummy,” Harry hiccoughed, tears streaming down his cold-reddened cheeks, “Weemus...M-Mummy...”  
“All right, all right, don’t cry anymore. Let’s go find your mummy. Is she in here?” Remus asked with clear discomfort, gesturing with difficulty to the nearest door with a shopping bag-laden hand.  
“M-M-Mummy...”  
Remus sighed, seeing this conversation was going nowhere. He stood and looked around quickly, but glimpsed neither a head of long red hair nor a messy black one. 

Life. Was. _Bollocks._

Beside him, Harry was still sobbing loudly, his tinny voice threatening to break out into a wail again, so Remus quickly decided to take matters into his own hands. He shifted all of his shopping bags to his left hand, wincing a little at the weight, and held out his right hand to Harry, saying in what he hoped was a soothing voice, “All right, now, buck up. Let’s go find your mum.”  
“Mummy,” said Harry miserably. “’Kay.”  
He sniffed hard, just once, as though gathering whatever strength he contained in his little body, then he grasped Remus’ hand with his mittened one and held tight. Remus could not help a smile from lifting his lips. There was nothing quite like serving as a comfort to a distressed child in the dead of winter.

Remus looked around again and began to draw Harry up the crowded street, making an educated guess as to where the boy’s parents might be. He stopped walking when they reached the next block without sighting Lily or James anywhere. The crossing light changed and people filtered past Remus with holiday haste, jostling him as they passed. Harry pressed closer to Remus’ leg and held on to his hand for dear life, mumbling “Weemus” into his scarf like it was an incantation.

Biting his lip, Remus pulled Harry away from the street and closer to the bright lights of a nearby maternity shop. “All right, um...we’re going to stay right here, okay? Right here until your mum finds us, okay?”  
Harry only sniffed and rubbed at his face. Remus set his groceries on the pavement, carefully out of the way of hurried feet, and pulled a package of facial tissues from his pocket so that Harry could rub his nose with one instead.

Several minutes passed like this, until Harry’s tears were completely dry and Remus’ groceries were completely pavement-bruised.  
“Weemus,” Harry said eventually. “S’cold.”  
“I know, Harry, I’m cold too.”  
“S’cold,” Harry repeated tersely, sounding in that one word exactly like his godfather uttering “ _S’cold_ ” in front of a loud, well-lit pub. The memory sent an unexpected jolt of warmth through Remus, who smiled before he could fully understand what he was smiling about.  
“ _Weemus_ ,” Harry was saying, plaintively now and determined to have his way. “ _S’cold_.”  
Remus sighed, bending to pick up his bags. “ _All right_ , you’ve convinced me. Let’s go inside.”  
“’Kay.”  
Remus rolled his eyes but grasped the boy’s hand all the same and together, they tottered into the nearest shop. Too late, Remus remembered that the store was full of _women’s maternity clothing_ , but Harry was already edging insistently into the comforting heat of the small shop, and Remus felt he had no choice but to head in.

The women dotting the brightly lit, pastel-coloured store gawked at him as he fully expected them to, but Remus valiantly ignored them and turned to the window to keep a lookout for Lily. Harry was stamping his feet happily, waving his mittened hands in the newfound warmth. Remus glanced at him fondly, as behind them a few female voices rose in a coo.

Then, to Remus’ abject horror, a saleslady approached him, smiling charmingly. “Can I help you with anything?”  
Remus momentarily wrestled with the urge to run away. “Oh, er...n-no, that’s quite all right. We were just waiting for the boy’s mother and...and he got cold, so...”  
“Oh, I see.” The woman nodded in a manner that was far too understanding for Remus’ liking. “Well, we usually don’t allow loitering, but I suppose we could make an exception here.”  
“Um, thank you,” said Remus with a shaky smile. “We won’t be long.”  
She walked away, and Remus was able to release a sigh of intense relief. Harry looked up at him curiously, then resumed his surveillance of the window.

They only had to wait a few moments more before they caught sight of a red-haired figure moving faster than the rest. Remus craned his neck to make sure as Harry bounced with delight. “Mummy! Mummy!”  
“That it is,” said Remus, sounding almost as excited as the boy. “Come on, then, let’s go get her.”  
Remus pushed the door open for Harry, sending the beaming saleslady a grateful wave before he headed out into the cold again. Harry was running along the sidewalk as fast as his still-tottery legs could take him, shouting, “Mummy! _Mummy!_ ” with renewed tears as Lily spun around and crouched on the sidewalk, grabbing him with motherly ferocity around the middle and holding tight.  
“Oh, _my baby! My darling baby boy!_ Oh, you bad, bad boy, wandering off like that! Wait until your father catches up, he’ll be furious–”  
“Just as soon as he catches his breath, I’d imagine,” Remus said cheerfully as he watched James comically work his way through the crowd half a block away, waving his arms and breathing hard as though he was swimming rather than running.  
Lily looked up in surprise, still clutching Harry tightly against her. Then her face broke into a wide smile. “Oh, dear me, Remus. It’s you.”  
“I found him crying somewhere over there,” Remus explained. “We tried to find you. I’m sorry if we moved, it’s just I wasn’t quite sure...what to do, actually...”  
Lily shook her head as he trailed off. “I’m just glad he’s back. I was so afraid someone less kind than you would find him instead...”  
“ _Lily!_ ” James shouted as he burst from the crowd behind them, still running like the devil was at his heels. “Lily, have you found hi–oh, hullo, Remus. Didn’t see you there.”  
“It’s all right, James, Remus found him. He’s okay.”  
“Thanks heavens,” James breathed. He slumped against the wall of the maternity store, panting in his heavy winter coat. “Didn’t...know...what to...do...”  
Lily hugged Harry tighter still as James caught his breath. The distress and relief and happiness of the couple was palpable, heavy and unexpectedly warm in the winter air, and to his discomfort Remus felt a twinge of envy as he gazed upon these people, this little family that held so much love. He turned away and looked out at the churning crowd instead, scratching the side of his nose with a fingernail as the weight of his shopping bags rendered his other arm quite numb.

After a long moment, Harry’s sniffles subsided for good and he squealed with delight as his father picked him up in one swoop. Lily gathered up her shopping bags that had clustered on the sidewalk, shaking the snow from them while ignoring that which had stuck onto the hem of her coat. Remus thought this might be the ideal time to say his goodbyes and walk away.  
“Well, everyone’s all nice and found now, so I suppose I’ll just–”  
“Oh, Remus, wait,” Lily said.  
He turned obligingly toward the couple. James and Lily were looking at him with twin expressions of concern that he was quite sure no longer had to do with Harry.  
“Going home, then?” James asked in a transparently cautious voice.  
“Yes, sir. Just going to settle in for the long winter.”  
“S’cold,” Harry supplied.  
“That it is, Harry,” Remus agreed.  
“And I suppose you’ll be getting ready for the holidays?” Lily added.  
Remus tried to smile. “Yes, ma’am.”  
“Remus, dear, it’s just Lily, if you please.”  
“Yes, ma–Lily.”  
“I don’t suppose you have any plans?” James said then, heaving Harry a little higher in his arms.  
“I...” _What’s going on here?_ “I...don’t. Not really. Just to visit my parents.”  
Both James and Lily immediately brightened. “Oh, and where do they live?” Lily asked.  
Remus cursed inwardly, but years of practise and experience were kicking in now, keeping the smile firmly in place. “They don’t, I’m afraid. They died while I was still in university. Car accident. I-I was going to go visit their graves soon...”  
He fell silent as around them, the crowd bustled on, unheeding. Lily and James glanced at each other, thoughts silently transmitting between them as they only can between loving spouses.  
“Right, then,” said James suddenly. He turned toward Remus, his spectacle lenses glinting in the bright streetlights. “Remus, would you like to come over on Christmas Eve?”  
Remus said, “Excuse me?”  
“Just for one evening. It’s no imposition at all,” Lily added, as though sensing his coming thoughts. “We’re inviting you.”  
“We insist,” James finished, bouncing Harry with finality.

Remus did not know what to say. He searched for words in the snow-encrusted pavement, in the warm maternal colours in the nearby display. He searched for them in the hopeful expressions of James and Lily Potter, and in the amused-attentive expression on Harry Potter’s rosy little face. He searched for them in the rising, unbidden memories of a gruff, friendly voice, a voice saying “ _S’cold_ ” like it was a joke in itself.

Finally, Remus said, “What brought this on? I’m just your accountant...”  
“Even accountants need someone to spend Christmas with,” Lily said gently, “and Peter...”  
“ _Peter?_ When did Peter tell you–...what about Peter?”  
The Potters smiled ruefully, and Lily said, “He came to the bakery once, last week, I believe. He might have, er, hinted rather heavily that a certain friend of his would appreciate a little company for the holidays.”  
“I reckon he also hinted rather heavily that it might be me,” Remus said dryly.

A pause, then Lily’s face fell and she said, “Oh, Remus. We’re so sorry. It was terrible of us to...oh...oh, but...”  
“No, no!” Remus said quickly. Her pity and guilt was the last thing he wanted. “Please, don’t apologize, Missus Potter. It’s quite all right. I mean...he’s right. Peter’s right.”  
“That’s a ‘yes’, then?” James asked.  
“Yes, yes!” Harry parroted, insistently.  
Remus could not help the smile that broke over his face. He shook his head vaguely in the frosty air, wanting to laugh but not remembering how for the time being. Instead, he said, “Yes. I happily accept.”  
“Excellent!”  
Lacking a free hand with which to shake Remus’ or to cuff him amicably on the arm, James settled with bumping Remus’ shoulder enthusiastically with his own, as Lily shook out her bags one more time, looking very pleased.

=====

  
Two days later, Remus was standing nervously on the stoop of the bakery’s side entrance and ringing the bell. He had been thoroughly snowed on as he had walked from the bus stop to this building, and was still going about the business of uselessly brushing himself off when the door opened, but neither James nor Lily was behind it.  
“It’s snowing,” Sirius said, as all the greeting he deemed necessary.  
“I noticed,” Remus retorted. “Going to let me in, Mister Black?”  
Sirius leaned against the doorframe, smiling teasingly. “Only if necessary, Mister Lupin.”  
“I find it quite necessary at this point.”  
“All right, but only if you pass.”  
“Pass what?”  
“Question one!” said Sirius loudly.  
“ _Sirius Black!_ ” shouted Lily from within the house. “Let the poor man in right this instant!”  
“You heard her,” Sirius said smoothly. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come in now, you’re wasting their hospitality.”  
Sirius stepped away from the door and Remus shuffled in, making a face at Sirius that only served to get him chuckled at. He watched as Remus stomped his feet on the mat and swept fat snowflakes out of his hair.  
“ _Take his coat, Sirius_ ,” Lily ordered, still out of sight.  
“How do you know I’m not?” Sirius shouted back. He held out his hand for Remus’ snow-streaked coat, looking at Remus like he was daring him to laugh. Remus handed his coat over and said quietly, “I’m not the only one who seems to be whipped around here.”  
“She only wishes she could whip me.”  
“ _I heard that!_ ”

Sirius ignored her and stepped up very close to Remus instead. Remus froze in the act of unravelling his scarf from his neck, the skin on his shoulders prickling as he reacted to Sirius’ unwarranted proximity. Sirius was not looking at him, however – in fact, he seemed to be doing anything but – as he opened a small closet next to Remus and scrounged around for a spare hanger. An eternity seemed to pass as Sirius rummaged and Remus stood, snow melting in his hair, doubts and questions roiling in his head.

Remus reached up onto the top shelf of the closet, his long fingers grasping the hooked end of a white plastic hanger. He held it out pointedly to Sirius, who glanced only briefly at his face before looking at the hanger.  
“Ah, thank you.”  
Remus turned away, muttering something under his breath.  
“What was that?” Sirius asked cheerfully.  
“I said you’re welcome.”  
“Really? ‘Cause it sounded an awful lot like ‘life is bollocks’ to me.”  
“It might have been that too,” Remus admitted.  
“Pressure at the office? Well, buck up. Things will get better. You taught us that.”  
“I did?”  
“Mm.”  
Sirius finished his stalling tactics in the closet and closed it carelessly, turning to Remus with something like his usual grin in his eyes.  
“Forgot your scarf,” he said brightly. “Here, let me.”  
Before Remus could do or say anything in protest, Sirius reached out and deftly unwrapped the scarf with both hands. Then, with one end of the heavy wool scarf in each hand, he pulled. The scarf caught at the back of Remus’ head and urged him forward. He stifled a cry of surprise as he collided with Sirius’ chest, but Sirius did not move an inch.

Sirius was _definitely_ close now, so close that his breath was on Remus’ left ear and the scarf held in both his hands clung to Remus like an embrace.  
Remus wanted to push away, to shout, but instead he whispered, “Sirius, what are you...?”  
Sirius’ chest vibrated gently under Remus’ hands, rumbling with a quiet laugh. Then he bent his head low so that his hair fell over Remus’ shoulder, and said in his ear, “Are you attracted to me, Remus?”

Remus’ body stiffened against him, but he still was not stupid enough to blurt out “yes”, and much less “no.”

Thirty seconds passed. A minute.

Remus said, “I would like my scarf back, please.”  
Sirius did not move for another few seconds, and when he finally did, it was with the clipped cadence of anger. He dropped Remus’ scarf to the floor and jerked away. Remus heard him noisily climbing the stairs by the vestibule.

He thought of all the things he could do right now. He could shrug like none of it mattered, or cry because all of it _did_ , or just stand there in the Potters’ doorway until all of time swept past him and erased all thought.

In the end, Remus did none of these things. He only sighed, softly, and bent to pick up his sodden scarf, which he folded twice and looped through the hanger which from which his drying coat was suspended. He passed a hand through his hair once, hand on his hip, the very image of indecision, then he turned and climbed the steep, narrow stairs up to the living quarters.

Savoury cooking smells filled this level of the building, leading Remus straight to the brightly lit kitchenette and adjoining dining room. Lily was standing by the stove, stirring something with one hand and gesturing with the other to the beat of the Christmassy tune playing on the wireless. She turned as Remus walked in and sent him her warmest smile.  
“Oh, there you are, Remus. I thought Sirius had scared you off, for a moment.”  
“He’ll have to do better than that,” Remus joked, but his heart was not in it.  
“Not for lack of trying, it seems. Harry and James are in the sitting room. It’s across the hall.”  
As though on cue, a raucous child’s laugh sounded from the other room, while James yelled, “ _Blimey!_ ” like he was in moderate pain and Sirius said, “Whoa, there!” with laughter in his voice. Remus wondered if that voice sounded strained only to him.  
“Do you need any help in here?” Remus asked.  
Lily was staring down into her pot, stirring with more force now. She waved a hand at him without looking up. “Oh, no, no. I’m almost done here. You go play with the boys until it’s all ready.”  
“Are you sure?”  
Lily did turn to face him then, her green eyes calculating. For one fleeting moment, Remus thought _oh God she knows she knows everything she heard everything and now it’s all going to go wrong_ but apparently Lily had not known or heard anything of any import, because she smiled gently and gestured to the counter to her right.  
“Well, if you insist on being so helpful, you can make the salad. I haven’t had time to make it yet because we forgot the lettuce the other day, what with Harry getting lost and scaring us out of our wits. Sirius had to rush out earlier to get some.”  
Remus began running tap water over the leafy greens and said, “He managed in this traffic?”  
Lily snorted, stirring the stubborn thing on the stove with increased vehemence. “Oh, I wouldn’t put weaving in and out of traffic past our Sirius. He’s gotten even more reckless than usual ever since he got that thing.”  
“Thing?” Remus asked cautiously, feeling a certain sense of dread steal over him.  
“His motorcycle. He bought one earlier this year. I thought he would have told you by now, seeing as he’s practically married to it.”

Remus wanted to jump out the kitchen window and just end everything right there. He actually _did_ have a motorbike? _How much more stupid and_ hot _can he possibly get?_

“Remus? Are you all right?”  
“Y-Yes. I just...really like lettuce.”

=====

  
Christmas Eve dinner at the Potters’ was at once a surprisingly pleasant and surprisingly tense affair. The food was excellent and the Potters themselves were cheerful and animated hosts, right down to little Harry, who had taken to dumping portions of his own food onto Remus’ plate as a gesture of hospitality.

Sirius, on the other hand, seemed to have withdrawn any and all good will he may have exhibited in the past. He occupied himself with sending Remus swift glares and reproach-laden looks between bites of his supper. Remus ignored him as best as he could. This was only for an evening, a couple more hours at the most. He could last that long. All he had to do was keep the peace. Surely, Sirius could do the same? Surely, he would not be so stupid as to bring their sudden issues up in front of company?

Remus should have known not to be so foolishly optimistic.

Remus jumped visibly as something struck his shin hard. _Had Sirius just_ kicked _him under the table?_  
“Pass the salad,” Sirius said gruffly, not even bothering to hide the dark mischief in his eyes.  
Remus would have gladly overturned the salad bowl on his head instead, but the years he had spent being conditioned for polite society by his mother quashed the desire. He picked up the bowl and passed it to Sirius, saying nothing. Sirius took it silently, locking eyes with Remus for much longer than necessary. 

Lily glanced back at them as she reached over to wipe Harry’s chin. James ate on, seemingly oblivious.

Sirius dropped his eyes, so Remus did the same. They ate on in silence, listening to the wireless belting Christmas tunes from the kitchen counter.

Sirius kicked Remus again.

This time, Remus did not jump, although he did bite his tongue. He smoothed the scowl from his face even as he was tasting coppery red blood in his mouth. Across from him, Sirius was watching him from under his lashes.

Remus took another bite of Lily’s Christmas roast, chewed carefully, and swallowed. Then, he snapped his right foot out and connected solidly with Sirius’ shin.

Sirius jumped mightily, his knees hitting the bottom of the table. Both James and Lily looked up as the dishes rattled noisily.  
“Sirius?” James said, perplexed. “All right, mate?”  
Sirius sucked in a breath and brought a hand to his lip. “Yeah, fine. Just bit my tongue.”  
“Git. Be careful.”  
Sirius glared across the table at Remus, who concealed his smirk in his wine glass.  
“This is really good, Missu–...Lily. Absolutely delicious,” Remus said with instantly increased cheer.  
Lily beamed at him. “Thank you, Remus. James married me for my cooking, you know.”  
“Lily Potter, I married you because you are a clever girl and I would not know what to do without you.”  
“Oh, do go on.”  
They laughed softly together and Remus could not help an additional smile from curving his lips. Here in the warmth of the Potters’ home, it was difficult to recapture the envy he had experienced back on that cold London street, when he was clearly on one side while they were on the other. Now, it was almost as though he was a part of this small, tightly-knit, loving family. He could pretend, at the very least, which was something he had not allowed himself to do for a long time.

It would have been a perfect moment, if it was not for the toe of Sirius’ shoe intruding upon the winter bliss, tap-tap-tapping rhythmically against his shin in a thoroughly bruise-inducing manner. And Sirius Black, that bastard, was finishing up his meal as though nothing was wrong, as though he was not currently causing Remus _increasingly excruciating pain._

After a few more long minutes, where he and James and Lily discussed current English affairs in an only slightly argumentative manner, Remus discovered he had had enough. All the sensation in his body seemed reduced to the single, precise spot where Sirius was kicking him. He had to stop this now or he was going to go insane.

Remus waited for a lull in the conversation, then he placed his utensils carefully down on his empty plate and said, “Please stop that.”  
Sirius acted as though he had not heard.  
“Stop what?” James asked, his wine glass poised before his lips.  
Remus only looked at Sirius, who was now looking anywhere but at him. “I’m asking as a civilised person and as a friend, Sirius. Stop it.”  
“M’not doing anything, Mister High-And-Mighty-Accountant,” Sirius said around his last mouthful of roast.  
Remus sighed. “Of course not. You’re only acting like a complete child.”

This seemed to be the last straw. Sirius swallowed forcefully and stood, making the dishes rattle in combined ire.  
“At least _I’m_ not the one who’s been such a bloody _tease_ all this time!” he snapped, black hair falling in strands over his storm-cloud grey eyes.  
“Tease...?” James murmured confusedly.  
“You started it,” Remus replied curtly. “I didn’t tell you to ask about my preferences. I didn’t say anything to indicate even the slightest–”  
“You didn’t have to! I could _tell_ , I thought you–”  
“You assumed! Just because you’re so good-looking and reckless and _full of yourself_ –”  
“ _You’re lying, I know you are_ –”  
“ _Stop it! Stop it, both of you!_ ” Lily shouted suddenly, so that everyone, including a worriedly-babbling Harry, was struck dumb.

The radio continued to play, unheeding of the sudden silence.

“That’s better,” Lily said stiffly. “Now what is going on? What is so wrong between you two that you have to fight on Christmas Eve?”  
“Nothing,” Sirius said sullenly, “because apparently there was nothing ‘between us’ to begin with.”  
“Oh, would you just listen to yourself–”  
“Remus,” Lily said in a warning voice.  
Remus obediently shut his mouth. Lily turned to Sirius.  
“You know what I think about this,” she said, “but have _you_ actually thought about it?”  
Sirius only stared down at the table, hands clenched by his sides. Lily sighed. “Sirius–”  
“I know. I’m not a child.”  
“Well, you had better start proving it. And you can start by stepping out and discussing things like adults.”  
Remus looked up at Lily in bewilderment. “Missus Potter–”  
“It’s _Lily!_ ” she said in a tone brooking no argument. “Now go. And don’t come back until you’ve settled this thing.”  
“What thing?” James asked in a desperate voice. “Lily, what’s going on? Sirius?”  
“Come on, Lupin,” Sirius growled.  
He stalked out of the kitchen and could be heard descending the steps with exaggerated loudness, not unlike a sulking child. Lily sighed deeply and said to Harry, “Eat your peas, dear.”  
James said in a small voice, “Remus?”

Remus had not yet moved. After a second’s delay, Lily turned to look at him. He almost cringed, prepared for the same treatment as Sirius’, but Lily’s gaze had softened.  
“Are you really not interested in him?” Lily asked him.  
Remus lowered his gaze into his wine glass. “I don’t know.”  
“Well, you should go find out. I mean it, now. Don’t come back inside until this is over and done with. For both your sakes.”  
Remus nodded mutely and stood before following Sirius down the stairs.

James sat rigidly in his chair, looking vastly overwhelmed. He said, “Remus is–”  
“Yes.”  
“And Sirius likes–”  
“Yes, darling.”  
“S-So Remus and Sirius might–”  
“Yes, perhaps.”  
“Oh...”  
James slumped in his seat, reaching for his wine and finishing it off in one gulp.  
“Why didn’t I see it earlier?” he lamented.  
Lily smiled fondly and refilled his glass. “You never do, love.”  
“Don’ like peas,” Harry said.

=====

  
It was still snowing outside, but in the faint glow of the streetlamps, the night looked more ethereal than treacherous. Remus exhaled a slow breath through his scarf, and turned toward Sirius.

He was standing moodily off to the side, leaning back against the side of the building with his hands in his pockets. He did not seem to be up to talking.

“Well,” said Remus uncomfortably, “I suppose we should get on with it.”  
“With what?” Sirius replied shortly. “You don’t like me, so I don’t see what else we have to discuss.”  
“I never said I didn’t like you.”  
“I asked if you found me attractive–”  
“You daft sod, it’s not the same thing.”  
“Isn’t it?” Sirius snapped, but he looked slightly self-conscious now, as he had briefly at the Leaky Cauldron. “What the hell do you want me to say, then?”  
“You could apologize for making a scene, for one. Did you really think you could win me over by bruising me?”  
Sirius mumbled something that sounded terribly like “was worth a try”, so that Remus had to contain a smile. He sighed instead, his breath misting in the cold air, and stepped a little closer. Sirius did not move.  
“Sirius.”  
Sirius did not look at him. Remus prayed for patience.  
“Sirius, don’t sulk, please. It’s not sexy.”  
“Shows what you know,” Sirius muttered, but he turned to look at him at last, his eyes very bright even in the diffused lamplight.

Remus held his gaze for a long moment, then he reached up to fiddle nervously with his scarf. He said, “I’m more high-maintenance than I look.”  
Sirius raised his eyebrows at him but did not say anything. Remus went on, “I have a good job, and most days it’s okay. But on the days when it’s not okay, I’ll act and talk like everything is the same, but I’m a terrible liar so it will show, and it will be annoying.”  
Sirius nodded, noting the statement. Remus looked away, toward the rough brick wall that was sprinkled with fine snow like fairy dust.  
“On some days, I’ll work so much that I won’t go to bed. Sometimes I leave the toaster on by mistake, and _sometimes_ I listen to chamber music on the radio.”  
Sirius winced at the last one but gestured for him to continue. In a faster voice, Remus said, “Most days, I would much rather spend time with books than with people. I don’t like cabbage. I don’t like taking out the rubbish, and I recycle fastidiously.”  
Remus took a deep breath, curling his cold fingers around his scarf and looking Sirius straight in the eyes. “And I don’t like being hurt. I haven’t dated in a long time because I haven’t found anyone I can trust enough to entrust....entrust with...”  
Sirius shifted against the wall, silent.  
“I haven’t found anyone whom I’m sure won’t...disappear,” Remus said with difficulty. “My parents are dead. I have no other family, no other close friends except for Peter. I don’t want to risk losing anything like that again.”  
“It’s not the same,” Sirius said abruptly.  
Remus only shook his head.

Neither of them spoke for a long while. The snow fell around them, reflecting gold from the streetlamps, red from the traffic lights. Silver from the clasps on Sirius’ jacket, from his eyes. They shuffled in the cold and contemplated Remus’ words in silence.

Finally, Sirius straightened from off the wall and said, “I can deal with that.”  
Remus looked up at him. “What?”  
“I said I can deal with that. All of it, and more.”  
“Sirius, this isn’t a challenge–”  
“I’m a prick,” Sirius said loudly, stunning Remus into silence. “I’m a prick and a fool. I make pastries for a living at what is probably the worst wage of all time, but I keep doing it because it’s what I want to do. I pick up my underwear but not my socks, and then I complain that I keep losing them. I scream like a maniac at sports on the telly, and I spoil Harry rotten even though Lily keeps giving me hell for it.”  
He stopped, scratched the back of his head, and said in a softer voice, “And you need me.”  
Remus was too surprised to even frown. “What d’you mean?”  
“Well, for your dream. ‘I want to make everyone I care about happy’.”  
Sirius moved closer, one arm propping him against the wall, and dipped down to meet Remus’ eyes. “Is that still your dream?”  
“Yes.”  
“Then you need me for it. Because I’ll only be happy if you are.”

A dumbfounded pause, then Remus exclaimed, “That is the _worst_ line in history! _I should punch you in the face!_ Are you _serious?_ ”  
Sirius grinned despite everything. “I’m always Sirius.”  
Remus groaned and let himself lean sideways against the wall, so that in warmer weather the two might have been lounging comfortably side by side. 

Softly, Remus said, “I mean it. You might not like me much past the sarcastic, mousy exterior.”  
“I’ll take my chances.”  
“Hmph.”  
“How about me? Think you’d like to give me a go?”  
“Give you a go?” Remus repeated amusedly.  
Sirius nodded quickly, his hair flipping up and down over his eyes, so that he looked for a moment like an enthusiastic floppy-eared puppy. Remus tipped his chin down into his scarf to hide his smile, but Sirius reached out and raked one hand through Remus’ snow-speckled hair, drawing his eyes upward again. Sirius’ eyes were wide and honest now, reflecting pools that projected Remus’ uncertainty right back at him. However, there was something in the line of his mouth, the shape of his jaw, and the warmth of his fingers that was absolutely certain, that left no room for indecision or doubt. 

Sirius’ hand moved slowly down, brushing Remus’ cheek as it went, then Sirius was hooking his fingers in Remus’ scarf and pulling, pulling so that it came away and left his chin bare. Remus licked his lips compulsively, with the very tip of his tongue, and latched onto the lapels of Sirius’ jacket with cold-trembling hands.

Then Remus tugged. He tipped his face up toward Sirius and tugged him forward, just once, and in that one tiny movement, he was acutely aware of opening himself completely, in a way that he had not dared in a long time.

Sirius leaned down and kissed him.

Remus was not prepared for the gentle press of lips. He had always believed, in his secret thoughts, that Sirius would be the kind to swoop in for the capture, to coax and pry open through sheer force of will. This Sirius, however, did no such thing. He lingered, parting his lips only slightly as though to take a shallow breath, but otherwise it was merely touch and warmth, the simple contact of skin that was at once terribly foreign and frighteningly familiar. 

Remus sighed gently into the kiss, then it was as though something had suddenly clicked into place in his mind. Without surfacing for a new breath, he tugged Sirius forward again, forcing their mouths harder together, forcing the cold away as against his, Sirius’ mouth opened in surprise.

He dove. In that one instant, he tossed away his reservations and just dove, trusting himself to be all right. Sirius sensed the change and lowered his hands to grip at his shoulders, drawing them closer and parting his lips warmly against Remus’.

Sirius tasted like roast and wine from dinner, like smoke and steam from the kitchen, but somehow he tasted sweet too, like the pastries he laboured all day to make, like cream and glaze and golden-flaky crust that gave under his teeth. Sirius tasted like all that he was, and Remus could only hope that he was the same as he looped his arms around Sirius’ neck and kissed him with fervour on that cold winter night, not knowing and not caring what they would become, and he would not even try to wonder until this moment passed, until the snow melted away to leave the cool London spring.

They kissed, and clung to each other, and somehow it was right.

=====

  
When they returned to the main floor of the Potter house, James and Lily were clearing the table. Harry sat in his high chair with the night’s first helping of pie and ice cream, which he was busily and simultaneously eating and smearing over his mouth.  
“Weemus!” Harry cried as soon as he spotted them. “Seerus!”  
“So, lads, what’s the verdict?” James asked, looking admirably composed for someone who had had to be recently filled in on the romantic endeavours of his two friends.  
Remus and Sirius glanced at each other briefly, then Sirius swiftly reached out and grabbed Remus around the waist, pulling him up tightly against his side before Remus could protest. James looked shocked all over again.  
“He’s giving me a go,” Sirius said, far too proudly for such a statement.  
“You’d better have a warranty,” Remus grumbled.  
James recovered, laughing. “Bloody hell, Sirius. You know it’s never a good idea to shag the accountant.”  
Lily hit him on the head with the damp serving spoon she was washing, smiling through her motherly scowl. “James Potter! There will be no such language in front of Harry!”  
“Blood ‘ell,” said Harry behind them.  
It was Lily’s turn to gape with astonishment as Sirius said quickly, “Nonsense, James, you know he’s actually _your_ accountant. Remus is in no way business-affiliated with _me_.”  
“Look what you did, James! Now he’s going to be saying it _all the time_.”  
“Fancy some dessert, Remus?” Sirius said in his ear. “I reckon we should move on over to the sitting room.”  
“ _It wasn’t me!_ You _know_ he needs to hear something several times before he learns it! He must have known it before!”  
Remus smiled up at Sirius, accepting another gentle peck on the lips as Harry chanted “Blood ‘ell” one more time, and Lily rounded on Sirius saying “ _It was you!_ ”

Overall, it was a night to remember, for several warm, happy reasons obvious especially in retrospect.


	4. Part Four: In Which The Recipe Is Completed

**Part Four  
In Which The Recipe Is Completed**

The stand in the park had been Peter’s idea, but he would accept no payment from the Potters aside from all the pastries he saw fit to consume that first day.

An entire season had passed by then. The snow had long since melted and the early spring rains had washed London clean, leaving only a ceramic blue sky and the silver and stone turrets of the city. It was sunny and wonderfully warm that day, a blessing after the long winter and bleak succession of soggy spring afternoons, which guaranteed an even bigger clientele than any of _Harry’s_ team had ever imagined. 

Remus was the last to arrive. He pedaled into Diagon Alley Park at around one, tie ends and jacket tails streaming in the wind. He slowed the bicycle as a throng of small children crossed his path, gesturing excitedly and shouting for cupcakes. Remus smiled as he watched them peel off toward the _Harry’s_ stand, where he could see James and Sirius handing out pastries to a few elderly customers. Peter was lounging against the stand as well, chewing with a look of satisfaction on what looked like his favourite lemon pastry.

“Remus! Remus, over here!”  
Remus stopped the bicycle and turned his head. Lily Potter, lovely in a brightly-coloured shift, her red hair loose and flowing, waved at him from his left, then lowered her hands again to continue pushing Harry on his park swing.

As Remus walked his bicycle over to the swing set, Harry uncurled one small hand from the swing chain and waved too, yelling, “Weemus, Weemus!” with unabashed glee.  
“Good afternoon, Harry,” Remus said as Harry whizzed through the air before him. “All right?”  
“Awright!” Harry replied, mimicking Remus’ greeting to perfection, and kicked his legs to maintain momentum.  
Remus propped his bike against one of the swing set’s supports, then came around behind Lily and dropped her a friendly peck on the cheek. She laughed and swatted at him.  
“Remus Lupin, you charmer! Sirius will see, and you know how he gets.”  
“I do,” said Remus gravely, before breaking into a smile. “How are things?”  
“Oh, just lovely. I don’t have a clue how Peter managed to get us a permit to do this. He’s a miracle worker, same as you.”  
“It seems he’s found his calling, working here together with you and James. I’ve never seen him so happy.”  
Remus glanced over at the stand again. They were serving the clamouring group of children now. Remus watched until the young ones ran off to enjoy their snacks, and their guardian handed James a few notes as payment. Even from this distance, James’ own excitement was clearly discernible.

Beside him, Lily said softly, “It’s all coming together, isn’t it?”  
Remus nodded, his eyes still on the stand. “Yes, it is.”  
“Thank you.”  
He turned to her. She was looking up at him with those clear, brilliant green eyes. In the late spring sunlight, her eyes looked over-bright, and he realized that she was on the verge of tears. Flushing noticeably, Remus stammered to quell them: “O-Oh, no, Lily, it’s not...you don’t have to thank me, really. I was just doing my job.”  
“Yes, but you did so much more, also,” Lily insisted. “We couldn’t have done it without your help.”  
Without warning, she threw herself at him and latched her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Surprised into silence, Remus embraced her back, his chin resting easily on the top of her head.

Seeing them, Harry exclaimed, “Me too!”  
He dug his sneakered heels into the dirt to stop himself, then bounded off the swing and launched himself at Remus and Lily. They stumbled slightly and laughed as he collided with them and attached himself to their legs, and it was several moments before he would consent to detach himself.

Once he had, Remus left him and Lily to their playing and walked his bicycle across the path to the stand. James and Sirius were busy again, and only had the time to look his way and nod and, in Sirius’ case, to wink cheekily and have his Look pointedly ignored. Peter raised a hand to him in greeting. He was wearing his usual work suit, but Remus did not recall having seen him at the office that morning.  
“Didn’t see you at work,” Remus remarked as he leaned his bike on the side of the stand.  
Peter shrugged, rather unsuccessfully trying for nonchalance as he reached for another lemon tart on the small counter. “Decided to take the day off. Dad won’t mind too much.”  
Remus rolled his eyes but said nothing further on the subject. Behind him, three children, older than the last ones, chorused “Thank you!” after handing James their money.  
“No problem, lads! Thanks!” James called after them.  
When he turned to the other three, his entire being radiated suppressed excitement, as though he was very much resisting the urge to spontaneously combust.  
“I don’t know what to say,” he announced shakily.  
Sirius looped an arm around his shoulders and shook him soundly. “Look at him! Overcome with emotion, bless his dear heart!”  
Remus and Peter chuckled as James, mock-affronted, ducked out of Sirius’ hold and shoved him away. Sirius stumbled toward Remus instead, fastening himself to him in a possessive embrace that left no doubt as to the nature of their relationship.

Remus sighed, shifting a little so that Sirius’ arms lay more comfortably around his shoulders. “Hullo, Sirius.”  
“Hi.” Sirius nuzzled the side of his neck with his nose. “I could have gone to get you, you know.”  
“Are you joking? I told you I’m not getting on that thing.”  
“It’s a bike just like yours!”  
“It has an engine and goes _five times faster_.”  
“So all is well between you two, then?” Peter asked lightly. He had a slightly smug I-told-you-so quirk to his lips that simultaneously made Remus want to kiss him and punch him in the face.  
“Very well, Pete,” he said instead, his hands going up automatically to curl around Sirius’ wrists. “It took a while, but Sirius is finally house-trained.”  
“Oh, that’s good,” said Peter very seriously.  
“ _Remus!_ ”  
“Don’t pout, Sirius, you have customers,” Remus said with a smile.  
Sirius did not heed this last comment and maintained his embrace stubbornly. James only cast him a faintly amused look and went back to serving the new patrons.

Sirius loosened his grip only long enough to move his arms around Remus’ waist, then he held tight again and refused to budge, even when Remus nudged at him, overcome with self-consciousness.  
“Sirius. Perhaps we shouldn’t do this here.”  
“Well, I can’t leave. James needs help,” Sirius replied primly. He rested his chin down on Remus’ shoulder. “But if you _really_ want, we could go back to your flat in a bit...”  
“Not a chance, Mister Black. We both need to go back to work. Besides, my flat is far from here.”  
“Which is why I’ve been asking you to move in with me, Mister Lupin.”  
Remus could not help the smile that pulled at his lips. “I’m afraid I’d miss my own bed.”  
Sirius snorted. “I’ve slept in your bed, Remus. Despite the lovely company, it’s not much of a bed in itself.”  
“I didn’t hear you compla–”  
“ _All right_ , that’s more than enough out of you two,” Peter interrupted, visibly embarrassed. “Discuss these things another time, yeah?”  
“You heard him,” said Remus obligingly and with exaggerated relish. “Gerroff, Sirius.”  
“No.”  
“Peter?”  
Peter sprang up from his leaning position against the pastry stand, looking thoroughly stricken at the unexpected sound of his own father’s voice. Mister Pettigrew was approaching the stand from the path, an uncertain smile on his face.  
“Dad,” Peter said, eyes wide.  
Mister Pettigrew took his time ordering a couple of pastries from James, then turned slowly toward his son, not seeming to notice the couple frozen in an embrace behind him.  
“Peter, I thought you had things to do at the office,” Mister Pettigrew said carefully. “Haven’t you been at all today?”  
“No, Dad.”  
“Why not? Is something wrong?”  
Peter swallowed, looking as though he had finally had one pastry too many. Mister Pettigrew was staring at him, but not unkindly.  
“Peter?”  
“I quit.”  
“Peter!” Remus said, jerking involuntarily in Sirius’ arms.  
Peter turned and smiled back at him. “It’s all right, Remus. I’ve made up my mind.” He turned back to his father, courteous but completely unapologetic. “I quit, Dad. I don’t want to be an accountant anymore. In fact, I’m not sure I ever did.”  
Mister Pettigrew only looked at him. Then he sighed, and accepted his baked goods from a confused-looking James.  
“That’s quite all right, Peter. I suspected that you’d...anyway. It’s your life, I suppose. Your mother and I can’t always be making choices for you.”  
“M’sorry, Dad,” Peter said in a softer voice, but Mister Pettigrew shook his head.

Peter’s father walked up to his son, placed a hand gently on his shoulder, and said, almost in a murmur, “I’ll see you later.” Then, he left.

Harry said, “Pe’ah.”  
Everyone looked down automatically as Harry, unnoticed to them all before this moment, toddled his way to Peter and gripped onto his pants’ leg. Peter gazed down at him with something like fear. Wordlessly, Harry extended his arms up toward Peter, in that way that he often did with his parents, Sirius, and increasingly often, Remus.

Peter’s jaw went a little slack with surprise, then he seemed to come to his senses, and bent to scoop Harry up. He matched Harry’s squeal of happiness with a teary but triumphant cry of his own.

=====

  


At six thirty that day, _Harry’s_ park division, mid-week shift, closed up shop for the day. As they gathered up the stand’s various components and wrapped up the scant leftovers, James was already babbling excitedly about his plans for the Saturday shift, although his thoughts and observations were so errant and random, his words so quick, that he sounded more like an over-eager Harry than the co-proprietor of a now-respectable London business.

Remus had returned to the park after work to help with the packing up, and was now with the others, walking his bike to the bakery with his briefcase and the box of leftover pastries secured in the basket. Harry was being carried by Peter again and seemed on the verge of falling asleep against his shoulder. James and Sirius were in high spirits, joking and conversing animatedly as behind them, Lily kept an eye on each of her charges while wearing the most glowing smile Remus had ever seen on her.

Remus felt an odd tug in his chest as he watched them all, trailing behind as he did with his bicycle in tow. It was a different sensation than the one he was used to; it was not heavy or stifling, but gentler, warmer, like his heart was being carefully opened up and left to air, freeing it of the musty attic air of his own alone-thoughts. This was freedom, this was _happiness_ – he felt as though this was the moment he had been searching for, the one feeling that had eluded him ever since his parents had been taken from him, all those years ago.

It did not hurt so much anymore to think of them. He no longer wanted to curl up in bed all day when he thought of his father’s voice or the soft touch of his mother’s hands. He could think of them with tender longing now, and feel their love fill him again without feeling the resentment and pain he had nursed all through university and beyond.

It was a welcome feeling, a good feeling, to be virtually carefree again. He could concentrate on other things now, things that would bring him to a purposeful future, instead of back to brooding on his past.

“All right, Remus?”  
Sirius had somehow broken away from his conversation with James and was now walking alongside Remus, one hand placed casually on the seat of the bike as Remus led it by the handlebars. His expression was very soft, his grey eyes reflecting orange sunlight from behind the gilt castles of London city.  
“I’m fine, Sirius,” Remus told him with a smile. “I’m just thinking.”  
“About?”  
“Things. Us. Everyone.”  
Sirius’ gaze drifted forward toward the little procession preceding them. A small smile, toothless and affectionate, curved his lips.  
“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” he said, watching as Lily took Harry from Peter and began to rock him carefully as she walked. “Last fall, James already believed that we were going to lose the bakery. And now look at us.”  
“You mean _you_ didn’t think you’d go bankrupt?” Remus asked with an additional upward quirk of his lips.  
Sirius tossed his head as though the very thought were completely absurd. “Nonsense. I had faith in us, in our...dream. I knew that as long as we didn’t let the dream go, it wouldn’t let us go, either.”  
“That’s putting an awful lot of faith in an abstract notion.”  
“Shows what you know,” Sirius said with a sniff.  
Remus sighed. “Sirius, you _do_ realize that a comment like ‘shows what you know’ does not actually constitute an argument?”  
“Shows what you–aw, bollocks.”  
Remus laughed under his breath. Sirius flashed him a customary grin and reached up to brush the back of his hand gently against Remus’ cheek. Then he let his hand drop, looked up to make sure Peter was somewhat out of earshot, and said in a lowered voice, “I meant it, you know. About having you move in with me.”  
Remus wanted to laugh again. “With a man I’ve only just met?” he replied only half-jokingly. “You must be kidding.”  
“I’m serious.”  
“As always.”  
“Shut up, you! I’m opening my heart up to you as it is. The least you could do is give it the attention it deserves.”  
Remus really did laugh at this, a single, simple laugh that leapt unexpectedly from his chest like spring after a long winter. Peter glanced back at him curiously, a strange half-smile on his face.

The party turned onto Diagon Alley. The street was lit up with dying light, the old-fashioned streetlamps glinting red and gold like the bygone Christmas lights that Remus still saw in his dreams some nights, when the city was quiet and Sirius lay curled against him in the warmth of midnight.

Up ahead, Lily was saying, “Oh, Peter, you and Remus are more than welcome to have dinner with us tonight. As thanks for all you’ve done for us.”  
“Meagre thanks, of course,” James added. “We really can’t thank you enough.”  
Peter was notably less skilled than Remus at accepting such lavish thanks, and stammered incoherently even as Remus was calling, “Thank you, Lily, James. We’d be very happy to accept.”  
“Weemus, Pe’ah, sup,” Harry said sleepily.

They moved into the Potter household through the side entrance as Remus stayed behind to fasten his bike to the same lamppost as always. He glanced down the gentle incline of Diagon Alley as he did so, letting his gaze go far-off, across the intersecting street and to the shimmering roofs and glinting skyscrapers beyond. He watched the darkness gradually shift over the light, like ink running over a page, until the sky had turned velvety purple and smoothed into peace once again.

Remus picked up his briefcase and turned to enter the house, but discovered that Sirius too had lingered, waiting for him, it seemed. He was leaning against the same wall by which they had finally confronted each other on Christmas Eve, and was wearing that same self-conscious look which Remus had come to secretly know as the real face of Sirius Black.

Sirius did not say a word, but Remus recognized the shine in his eyes and only had time to drop his battered briefcase to the pavement before Sirius swooped down on him and claimed his lips, twining his fingers in Remus’ hair while Remus clutched the back of his shirt and held on tightly, moaning comfortably against the now-familiar kiss.

It was brief, but it was all they needed for now. When they broke apart, Sirius leaned in and touched his forehead lightly to Remus’ – not a customary gesture, but Remus was not complaining – and smiled, nothing but a slight up-curving of lips in the growing twilight.

“So,” Sirius asked in a whisper-soft voice, “How are you doing? In accomplishing that dream of yours?”  
Remus smiled faintly in return, tipping his head up to press a simple kiss to Sirius’ lips. “Not too bad. Still lots of work to be done. You?”  
“Same. Long road ahead.”

They stood that way in contented silence for some time, until a window was suddenly thrown open above them and James poked his head out, yelling down from the study, “Oi, you two! No shagging in the alley!”

Remus yelped, laughed, and flushed all at once, while Sirius sent a rude gesture skyward, causing James to chuckle and pull back inside. Sirius snatched up Remus’ briefcase and grabbed Remus by the hand to tug him toward the door, but Remus leaned back and stopped him.  
“Sirius, wait.”  
“Hm?”  
Remus hesitated, then looked down to their joined hands and wriggled his fingers a little, lacing them with Sirius’. Then he looked back up into Sirius’ eyes, which were soft with fondness.

Remus said, “What you said before, about us moving in together...”  
“Yes?”  
“I’ll think about it. Okay?”

A pause, then Sirius nodded and lifted Remus’ hand to his lips to kiss the middle knuckle.  
“Okay,” he said simply, and proceeded to pull him inside.

Remus allowed himself to be led, smiling secretively. His chest filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with spring or their assorted dreams. It felt like the beginnings of love, and he had that messy, unwanted file on his office desk to thank for it.

  
**The End**  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first R/S fic that also happens to be my first ever HP fic as well. Written in 2010 for the R/S Career Fest on Livejournal. Thanks to everyone who commented and appreciated over there! <3


End file.
